


Rose Petal Red

by NonchalantxFish



Series: of crimson and silver threads [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: #1 Best Dad Arthur Weasley, ...it's Gen for now, Alternate Universe, Author loves to chat in the Comments, BAMF!Weasleys, But there's also DUELS, Explicit Language, Gen, Good Slytherins, Hogwarts, I'm adding more tags lol, I'm an idiot and I don't know how to TAG, MY UPDATE SCHEDULE IS TRASH SORRY, Multi, My OC is having a hell of a time, No Bashing (intended), Original Characters Everywhere, POV Original Character, Reincarnation, Self-Insert, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Tags May Change, There's lots of fluff, WIP, World-building EVERYWHERE, and the Dark is full of cinnamon rolls, she's a Dark wizard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 21:51:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 43
Words: 327,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11745900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NonchalantxFish/pseuds/NonchalantxFish
Summary: I'm a little upset with the creativity of my and my twin's names. I get that it's because our father's name is Arthur, and I was an unexpected — though pleasant — surprise. But Guinevere is just the English version of Ginevra! That's so- Wait. What do I even care about that?I'm the eighth Weasley. In the Harry Potter universe. Ginny is my twin sister.Oh god.(Well, at least magic is super cool. Right?)





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god, I’m actually doing this. I wrote 35 chapters of the first draft in about a month and a half, then gave up. Then, my AMAZING friend Aster read it and told me that if I didn’t continue, she’d cry. Basically. So… here’s the rewrite! Here we go… Time for my take on the infamous HP SI/OC genre…
> 
> WARNINGS! female SI/OC, language, mature content, violence, and gore, gradual OOC, very AU, very cliché content, etc. All that stuff, it's hopefully in the tags, too.
> 
> I don’t own Harry Potter at all. Sorry. Not really that sorry.

 

 

**…**

 

Blindness.

Ice flooding my throat, choking out everything that was — because, honestly, I didn’t even realize I was warm _before_ until it was suddenly gone — and surrounding me, sharp and biting. Intense pain, my bones felt like they were being _crushed_ , and a humming all around me that intensified. I didn’t even realize that it was there, just like the warmth, until it was too much. Everything was too much…

( ** _It hurts!_** _)_

I screamed.

_Are my senses stupidly slow or something today?_ I thought, because I didn’t realize until _I_ was screaming that someone else was, too.

And the humming, and low murmuring, assaulted my ears as tears did the same to my eyes. I couldn’t _open my eyes_ for some reason, and it made me scream more because apparently I couldn’t control myself properly, either.

( ** _It hurts!_** _)_

Noise.

The screaming of the _other_ stopped, so it was only me. But that stopped, too, when I heard something soothing. It wasn’t as pretty as the humming around me — soft and quiet and, really, barely there — but it was _familiar_ , and with how fucking _weird_ this all was, I craved something familiar. So I quieted down, clamping down some internal urge to keep wailing my head off, and was instantly rewarded with warmth all around me. A different kind of warmth, I think, but it was as close to the _before_ that I would probably ever get, so I let out a sigh of content that I felt all the way down to my bones.

_Okay, this is better. It hurts like a bitch, but this is much better…_

Something grazed my cheek — large and rough-textured — and I frowned, wishing I could see.

I didn’t like not-seeing. Considering the last thing I _remember_ seeing with my own eyes as my death, I really didn’t like whatever the fuck this was.

Purgatory? Because if this was hell, I’d think that the intense pain would be more… long-lasting. And if this was heaven, I wouldn’t be in pain in the first place, right? And… Well, I honestly didn’t know any other terms for other religions’ ideas of the afterlife. Valhalla was out, since even _I_ knew that that place was for warriors, and it wasn’t _extremely_ warrior-like to be killed in some stupid-fuck car accident. Nirvana? No, it couldn’t have been… Nirvana was for enlightened people or something, and I was anything but enlightened. I couldn’t even get through high school without anti-depression medication, there was no way I was “enlightened”. OH! Wait, there was one more! Limbo was a thing, right? In some religion, it was like…

Fuck, I didn’t even know.

_Dying sucks._ I thought, sighing. _But at least the music’s nice._

It was to that strange humming — all sorts of soft songs, unrecognizable, layered on top of each other and blending strangely but not badly — that I began to drift off, into whatever version of sleep there was after one died.

 

**…**

 

Black and white blurs.

My eyes opened and that’s all I could see. The world was made of blobs of grey and black, white shining in my eyes sometimes and making me cringe. I didn’t experience any more intense bouts of pain or cold anymore, though, so maybe I passed some sort of test? And the music had gotten easier to hear, and sometimes I could pinpoint where its source was; different humming got louder depending on where it drifted by, usually all of it above me or sometimes besides me. If the humming was an indication of some sort of after-life ghostie-angel-thing, then I was learning to recognize them (there were four I knew _very_ well, three of them much stronger than the fourth). And there was always one present, enough that I sometimes forgot about it — that’s how soft and subtle the humming was, but being dead, I could only really spend my time listening for it.

Warmth and cool alternated, touching at me randomly; really, this entire after-life shit was random. Random fucking humming, random sensations of touch, random shapes dancing across my eyes — not that I had any physical body anymore, right? — and random… Well, a random after-life. This wasn’t what I learned in those fucking religion classes I’d been _forced_ to take as a kid.

_It might disappoint some people, if they knew that no version of the after-life was quite correct,_ I thought pityingly.

But as much as a dead person could sleep and be awake, the random, what-the-fuck-is-this-crap-that-I-can’t-explain shit only began when I was sleeping.

All the more… familiar stuff, I guess, started up when I went to “sleep”.

(It was sad that I thought the “dreams” were more normal than the “awakeness”)

I’d… see things.

Color, for one. Strangers, sometimes. Different things. Like I was watching a T.V. that couldn’t decided what channel to stay on, a T.V. that sharpened and distorted and fogged at random intervals, blurring things from me but showing me visions of… something _— of everything —_ at the whim of something as capricious as the weather.

I saw a girl with pale skin and hair the color of blood. She ran through fields with overgrown grass, hands running along the soft fibers of yellowing-green, laughter like bells. Woodland surrounded her field, a blurry building towering in the background. A creek ran through the woods near, shining with twilight.

Then I saw the deep blue sea, a pod of gigantic shapes — _Whales,_ I recognized — traveling together. Their rumbling and high-pitched whines melded together like songs, and I watched as their tunes changed: _newcalfdangerlovelovehomehelp-_

Dark-colored swallowtail butterflies — hundreds of them — swarmed a figure, and I could only see a flash of dark crimson hair before the vision blurred. Then there was a towering mountain, mocking the figures below it, white teeth ripping at fur jackets and shivering frames. The snow was unforgiving, and it buried everything. And then green sprouted from the frozen earth, roots grew, weak stem to young bark to ringed, ringed tree that towered and didn’t mock. Rain in the desert, wind in the valley, a stumbling woman on the sidewalk being helped up with good-natured laughter.

A woman held a baby awkwardly ( _She’s not used to it, she can’t be.)_ and her dark blonde hair fell over her eyes, the background blurred, the baby blue-eyed. She sniffled, the baby smiled, and the more the child laughed the more the woman cried.

Green lights flashed and people died. Their bodies went still, eyes wide with surprise and skin cooling to the touch as time passed. Sometimes people cried over them, sometimes they were buried emotionlessly.

Roses bloomed over months and months, red and yellow and white and pink and all sorts of colors, dark stems and pale thorns of warning.

The sailboat was a dot of red and white in the blue. The whales nudged the boat, the companion in the water, and the boy and his father with their bright orange vests laughed at the sight. Their song was welcoming: _hellocuriouswhowhodanger?nonogoodyeshellohello!_

Shadows with masks of bone towered over the night, laughing maliciously. There was death in their footsteps. The moon made their masks _glow_ , and the stars shivered as they were somehow flying through the sky with them-

Blink.

And then the “awakeness” took over, and I was seeing shapeless forms of grey and black with flashes of white.

Maybe these black and white blurs were the dreams, and the visions of color were the wakefulness? Because, honestly, it would make more sense — afterlife-wise — for me to be seeing the world, for me to be a _spectator_ of the world, as some sort of divine… punishment? Wasn’t there a theory that all energy returns to the earth? Maybe that’s where I was?

But I didn’t feel _a part_ of the world. I felt like I was watching it, like I was dreaming of it.

And there were these _urges_ , these _instincts_ , deep in my mind, trying to tell me how to act. How to flinch against the cool ( ** _Cry._** _)_ and how to welcome the taste of warmth ( ** _Drink._** _)_ and how to treat the humming that was never present when the color was ( ** _Ignore._** _)_ It seemed I’d be moving according to those instincts when the black and white blurs came, and I was more free in the dreams.

So I allowed myself to sink into the very depths of myself, and dream on in color.

(Where am I?)

(And what am I doing?)

( ** _Sleep._** _)_

 

**…**

 

Oh.

Well.

Hm.

Well… I was starting to have suspicions that I wasn’t quite… dead.

Color seeped into the black and white very slowly. I couldn’t make out complex shapes, but the color really helped. The humming grew louder, though I could make it recede to the background if I tried hard enough. I started to realize that I could feel things, textures, pain, heat and cool, and on different parts of myself, like… like I had a body. And when I started to entertain the idea that I was inside a body and maybe wasn’t quite as dead as I remember, I started to realize I could feel a fluttering in my chest, the rise and fall of my breast, scratchy fabric against skin (?), the musty air cool in my body and warm as it left again — flashes of dark, blinking, a prodding in my arm, touching, proprioception — there was something below what I was seeing, a neck, a body, arms and legs and hands and feet.

I have a body.

_That’s… not what I was expecting._

And after a few… actually, I don’t know how time is passing, but after a long period of internal debate ( _How the fucking fuck did I not realize I was alive. Well, I saw myself die, so- But you feel pain! And the religion nuts say hell hurts, so of course I didn’t think anything of it-)_ I realized that the reason it took me this embarrassingly long to realize I was inside a body was because it didn’t feel the same as before my death. For one thing, I couldn’t. Fucking. Move. Well, I couldn’t rightly move when I was dying either, so I was okay with that… But I felt… different.

I remembered very clearly what it was like in my last body, and it wasn’t like this. Blurred blobs of color, familiar voices that I couldn’t understand, humming in my ears — soothing and gentle and barely-there. An awareness of my body, an ease in detection of my physical self, the instincts that were currently locked in some foreign piece of mental space so I could _think_ without having urges to squirm or cry. Why did I want to cry so badly?

Wait.

Was I a fucking…

Was I a baby.

Fuck.

_No, no, no… Think about this… Just because you can’t see or hear properly, are oddly restricted in movement by what suspiciously feels like cloth, and have urges to cry and… excrete without abandon doesn’t mean you’re a baby…!_

(Who did I think I was kidding?)

I was a motherfucking baby again, wasn’t I?

I felt my eyes blink rapidly as I thought back to the first instance of icy air and pain. Where I was trying to figure out which afterlife I’d landed myself in after my untimely death… I’d said Nirvana. Nirvana was Buddhist, I think, and Buddhism was really big on the whole idea of…

Reincarnation.

_Oh, fuck me. Whyyyyyy…_

I’m not sure how much time passed before I started screaming, definitely calling whoever was taking care of the baby-me in to calm me the shit down. It made sense, all of a sudden, the strange feeling of being airborne, then being pressed to something warm, with a muttering, familiar voice and one of the strange humming-songs whispering around me. I was being held as I sobbed and cried in abject hysteria.

At least those damn instincts that always wanted me to goddamn cry would be happy.

…

Wait a second…

Was I reborn or am I living my own childhood out again?

If I was reborn, was it just me being born again or did I hijack an infant’s body?

(Were the instincts the infant’s, and I was just… taking over?)

Goddammit.

_You know what? Fuck it._

_Fuck everything._

If there was anyone that didn’t deserve to be reincarnated with their memories, it was me. Unless I was redoing my childhood. I still didn’t really deserve that, though. I literally did NOTHING with my life. I hadn’t been around long enough to, right? 

And it’s not that I was an overwhelmingly bad person, or a ridiculously good person… I was average, I think. I drew a lot, I wrote a lot, I swore too much, I did well in school, I hung out with friends, I was an underage drinker, I was a middle child, I was just… Normal. And then I’d died in some bullshit car accident.

And now I was here?

Well. It’s not like I was gonna waste the chance if it was reincarnation. And if I was redoing my life, then _hell yeah_ I had a lot of mistakes under my belt. It’d be nice to make up for them, whatever the case was.

Even though being a baby sucked.

However…

Those baby-instincts. I’m _fairly_ sure they’re what’s been driving the action of my newly-realized infant body. While I space out behind them, sometimes listening to that strange ever-present humming and sometimes dreaming in weird, colorful dreams… well, I was here, but I wasn’t really here. Meaning, I was _acting_ like a real baby because of these instincts, while I retained my adult intelligence and old memories.

_SWEET._

Legit, this is the best. Best deal I’ve ever taken, unknowingly or not. I could just hang out until my body was developed enough to actually see and hear things! And, really, even when I pushed the instincts down to look at what was what, they’d still be there — a fallback, of sorts. Wherever I was, I was still an infant… meaning these were necessary, meaning I was _golden_ in the ‘do-not-incite-suspicions’ department.

(Obviously, I wasn’t going to be going around yelling, ‘HEY I’M A REINCARNATION LOL!’) 

Even so… It wasn’t quite normal, was it? The being born again, the strange humming in my ears that’d never been present in my last life, the vivid dreams. The dreams were from perspectives I’d never seen before, either; and they were so _normal_ (I had some crazy dreams in life, before). It was surreal, and a little beautiful, too. Sometimes.

Sometimes, the instincts saw what I did, and they’d react for me. The dreams of shadows, of death — my adult mind handled it well, but the instincts were snapping my body awake and having it wail and scream. I tried to contain myself, not wanting to bring trouble to my caretakers, but it was difficult.

It was… getting less difficult, though. 

As time passed. I couldn’t mark its passage that well, but I knew that color was seeping into my vision, just as the blobs of shapes were sharpening into real objects. And my hearing was beginning to pick up on lower and lower sounds, discerning tones and voices from each other. Sometimes the humming was useful, allowing me to recognize people. Sometimes I’d see sharpened strings of color, floating by like they were underwater or crackling across the air like it was thunder; it would be a blink, and that’s it, but sometimes they lingered in the corners of my eyes. Taunting me, making me wonder what kind of freaky body I’d been put into.

(It was growing less and less likely that I was going to be reliving my life.)

As my senses sharpened into something normal for a human, the instincts faded. And the humming and colors flared up, and the dreams grew more sporadic, more random, more… like how it was to be a baby. Like things were randomly blurred, noises were randomly made incomprehensible, images flickered and distorted like a far-off object on a hot day.

And finally, one day my eyes blinked open from a dream, and I felt whole and aware.

 

**…**

 

A ceiling of planked wood, walls the color of cream and crowned in white, a deeply fuzzy carpet, sort of a faded red color. There were muffled noises above, playful and fun but far away (I flinched when there was a loud _BANG!_ but with no other sounds forthcoming and the continuation of muffled play, I figured it was a normal occurrence); there was humming, always humming, and laughter somewhere outside the large windows drawn with curtains. The air itself seemed to shimmer and sing, but in a way that was in the corners of my eyes and I thought I might be hallucinating it, if I weren’t so used to it being there. Pale, smooth bars blocking my sight of the rest of the room, and someone (?) beside me.

Someone… a familiar hum. And that color, that sort of deep, pretty maroon; it seemed more concentrated than before, spiderweb-like strings gently crackling in and out of sight, its source right beside me.

Another… another baby?

I blinked in awe.

_I’m a_ **_twin_ ** _? COOL!_

The baby next to me was a girl, I thought, by the pale pink she was dressed in; it was an identical color to mine, actually, which meant I was _also_ a girl (thank God, because I really didn’t want to try my hand at being a male even if I _was_ a bit too boyish for my old-mother’s taste). She was adorable, and I was surprised she was sleeping through the muffled _THUD-CLANK-BANG!_ upstairs somewhere, her little breaths making that gentle maroon color pulse with each rise of her chest.

My observations of my twin sister were broken when the door to our room opened, and sound poured in unfiltered:

“Check on the girls, won’t you, Arthur? I’ve got the twins- er- well- Fred and George to sort out, I don’t know _what_ they’re doing upstairs, but it’s probably nothing good!” called a woman’s voice ( ** _Familiar._** _),_ heavy with a British accent.

_Was I in England?_

The door creaked close, then, and the sounds became muffled. I blinked at the flickers of deep, deep blue across the room; the strings seemed to just be _floating_ off the main body of color, strings an electric tone compared to that soft and fading central glow, which bounded closer to the crib. The strings of blue were much larger and longer and _stronger_ than my twin’s little maroon, or my own little… violet? Some sort of warm purple, which rose weakly to meet the blue. They touched fleetingly, and I was hit with a sense of extreme _adorationlovehappinessawelovelovelove_ out of nowhere, enough to make me jolt and blink rapidly again. 

My eyes met blue ones.

They were set in a long, smooth face topped with rust-red hair. Freckles splattered cross high cheekbones and a crooked nose, underneath black-framed glasses. He was just a bit younger than middle-age, but still handsome — in a sort of clumsy way, I think. I drank in his appearance, not knowing who he was but understanding that this was the first time I’d _physically seen someone properly in this world._

I didn’t need the infant-instincts to tell me to smile.

“Hello, luv. Awake, are you?” the man said, a pleasant baritone voicing another British accent.

(I was probably in England, right?)

His hands reached down, huge to my little eyes. My world tilted as I was picked up, surprising me and eliciting a happy squeak from my limited range of vocal expression; I felt the rumbling of his chuckles as he pressed me to his chest, and my world shifted with every step he took, though I could tell he was trying to walk steadily for me. He sat down somewhere, the perspective of the room was all different now, and I was cradled in his arms comfortably, warmly, with his face smiling down at me with _so much love_ it made me twinge a bit in grief, knowing I hadn’t been able to give someone that kind of look before I’d died.

(But I wasn’t going to think of that, right? Bad idea, to linger on the past.)

I was being rocked oh-so-gently, and it was lulling me to sleep with how _safe_ I felt… But I stubbornly kept my eyes open, blinking rapidly in my effort. I had subsisted of six hours of sleep per night before the whole death thing, so it was irritating to think that I’d have to sleep _all the time_ now…

My father (and I knew without a doubt he was my father) laughed at my wandering eyes.

“You look very awake today, my Lys,” he whispered lovingly, “Your mother will kill me. I’m sure this is the first time you’ve smiled.”

Another grin hit my lips then; I knew how important the first smile was to parents. I’d been the receiver of my nephew’s first smile, actually, and it had pissed off my cousin and her husband something silly. That, of course, was a lifetime ago.

His large, calloused finger grazed against my cheek gently; I was surprised that I had the dexterity to grab at it. My father looked surprised, too, and humored me — his smile was crooked and I loved it (and dearly hoped I got some of his genes, since he was a very handsome man). I resisted the urge to ( ** _Gnaw._** _)_ on his fingers valiantly — fucking baby-instincts, dammit — not wanting to tear my eyes away from the this first clear memory of my new father.

“My Guinevere Lysandra Weasley,” my father murmured lovingly, “So awake and aware now… You’re going to do just fine in this world, luv. You and Ginevra are perfect.” He smiled, then. “My perfect girls.”

Warmth filled my chest at his words, for some reason. So, despite the glaring implications, I couldn’t help but smile.

 

**…**

 

GLARING IMPLICATIONS?

What the bloody FUCK was I thinking? Why the motherfucking FUCK was I in the bloody Harry Potter universe?

Weasley. As in Molly and Arthur Weasley. Parents of Ron Weasley. And Fred and George Weasley. And Ginny Potter neé Weasley. In-laws of the famous Harry Potter and Hermione Granger themselves.

Christ.

_Fucking_ Christ.

Wait.

Harry Potter universe.

_Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God…_ I chanted in my head, staring at the night-darkened ceiling of the sleeping house.

I was torn between screaming about the sheer _awesomeness_ of it, and crying in horror at the implications of my existence. Obviously, there was no Guinevere Weasley in the books. So, I didn’t hijack a baby; it was the… I dunno, the **_baby instincts_** that made me so attached to the red-haired couple that often invaded my room to hold us. Molly Weasley, whose voice was (uncharacteristically) gentle and Arthur Weasley, who was so awed by the existence of twin daughters (so soon after twin sons) that he nearly teared up today when he saw us.

Damn, it was so cute to see a grown man that happy, I always wanted to laugh — I don’t think I was quite developed enough to do so — when he came in to check on us. It had the added effect of making my father even more giddy at the sight of one of his daughters always smiling when he was in eyesight, which just led to more happy, cushy feelings. A positive feedback loop of smiling, except one of us shouldn’t exist, and I wasn’t sure who.

_The book character or the reincarnation that shouldn’t exist in the book? What on bloody earth was I… How did I… Why the_ _fucking_ _hell_ _was this even possible?_

Reincarnation was one thing.

Reincarnation into a FICTIONAL BOOK/MOVIE SERIES?

NO NO NO NO NO NO-

Suffice to say, I screamed.

A lot.

Like, the windows shattered.

Literally.

And that confirmed it, of course; accidental _fucking_ _magic_. I was an infant witch of a Pureblood family, a character that shouldn’t have existed. My magic thrashed where I could not, reacting to my panic and horror and confusion and fading sense of self, because _I should not be alive right now._

There was a deep violet at the edges of my vision, erratic and bristling; it roared with power and distorted the natural ambiance of the room, and especially the quiet slumber of the soft maroon beside me. The humming was menacing, almost _screaming —_ copying me, reflecting me, I don’t know.

(The colors and humming. Was that _magic???)_

The thin, faint violet twine shot out from its source (me), strong and twisting around itself, forming itself into something powerful and shaking. It seeped into the air, it sunk into the glass of the windows and then the glass _CRACK!_ ed and shattered, and if that wasn’t enough, the wood of the panes began to _splinter_ , and I was screaming in terror as my twin — my sister — _fuCKING GINNY WEASLEY —_ did the same, crying and wailing as my magic was out of control, suffocating her own colors.

_HOLY SHIT YOU’RE GONNA KILL YOUR SISTER STOP STOP STOP-!_

But I couldn’t get a handle on this fucking magic shit, it just got _WORSE._ I frantically tried to yell at it to stop, tried to sit up or something to protect Ginny from this stupid uncontrollable shit, but it wasn’t working and then-

**_SLAM!_**

“ _Protego!”_

“Boys, go back to your rooms, I mean it, do NOT follow us!”

“ _Propulso! Protego!”_

“ _Reducio! Depulso! Depulso!”_

“What on earth- Arthur, is it Guinevere or Ginevra?”

“ _Depulso!_ I don’t know, Molly, I think it’s Guinevere-“ Then my world tilted again, more quickly and harshly than before, I was suddenly surrounded in the warm soothing of my father’s blue colors and gentle humming, hugged to his chest. “Shhh, Guinevere, shhhh, luv. Come now, my little Guinevere Lysandra, what’s wrong? Shhhh, my little queen, shhhhh… My Lys, don’t worry, Daddy’s here, Mummy, too, shhh…”

I should have been mortified, knowing that just the presence of my father and such ridiculously gentle words managed to calm me (and my magic) down. I wrestled with my frenzying magic, shoving it down — being metaphysical for so long helped lots, I think — and getting its crazed roar down to the normal, if a bit grudging, hum. The tears that sprung up courtesy of my baby-instincts dried and the cries descended to hiccups, and I was worried for Ginny, but mostly relieved that it was over and I was safe and my dad was here-

“Well, that’s _got_ to break the record for earliest case of accidental magic.” said my father lightly.

My mother — Molly Weasley, no doubt, though I don’t remember her clearly as _my_ memories technically only started today when I woke up — let out a watery chuckle, but she didn’t sound very… well, cheered up, I suppose.

“That’s the fourteenth time she’s woken up screaming, Arthur,” said Molly Weasley’s voice, wobbling a little, “Arthur, dear, this is her first bout of accidental magic — she’s going to do more, now! What if- What if she hurts herself next time? Arthur, we might need to request a bind on her magical core!”

Arthur Weasley scoffed. “No child of mine is going to have their magic _bound_ , Molly. Little Lys just needs to be watched a little more closely, is all. She’s a smiler, this one.”

“Lys?? I thought we agreed she’d be called Gwen!”

“Er… Well… I called her Lys, and she stopped crying, and-“

“And??”

“Well, she smiled when I called her that before-“

“You said yourself she was a smiler!”

“Er- Well- See- With a- er- Gin and a Gwen, I thought she’d be confused-“

“She’ll be right confused if we’re calling her by two different names, won’t she?”

“But Lys-“

At this point, I took it upon myself to gurgle out a somewhat-laugh at Arthur’s guilty face. It was a mixture of amusement and relief that my parents _weren't_ absolutely pissed that I trashed my room. Plus, I somehow wiggled out of the prospect of a block on my magic core, which didn’t sound very nice… If it was what I thought it was, I really didn’t think the idea of that; especially since I was apparently looking at magic when I saw these strange little colors and heard those soft little humming songs.

Arthur — _father —_ smiled winningly at me. “See? She likes the name!”

“Oh, hush, you! And give _Lys_ over so I can put Charlie on watch; we’ve got to repair the room.”

It wasn’t until later, when I was snuggled down in my and Ginny’s newly repaired crib (it had also been a victim of my magic) that I calmly decided to take this one step at a time. There were variables upon variables that I had to study and look at, but for now… well, I couldn’t do much until I could actually _walk_ now, could I?

Still, I reached inside myself and poked and prodded at something tangible but metaphysical, until the humming purple at the edge of my vision slowly crawled over to Ginny’s maroon and soothingly sung an apology. It was almost instinct, but there was no word to describe it. Love? Apology? Closeness? Sister? Sorry? Something like that, something I just knew I could do to soothe the sister I’d scared and almost injured.

When Ginny smiled at me and clutched at my clothes with her chubby fingers, I knew I was forgiven. Her eyes were wide and hazel and innocent, free of any lingering fear with our tendrils of violet and maroon magics twisted together.

And I thought that maybe this wasn’t all that bad.

 

**…**

 

_There was a glass jar in his small hand — he looked determined — little light of the moon. The forest was dark — trees cast menacing shadows — the fireflies were out tonight — the boy beamed as he was bathed in their warm glow. He ran through the grass — dew drops — and tried to keep a little piece of their light with him._

_(_ **_Stop._ ** _)_

_The snake slithered through — the dry, scaling shining — chips of obsidian. Her tongue flickered out — fear and glee in the air. Shadows towered over her — they were afraid — she wanted to laugh. Colors dead — distorted — fading…_

_(_ **_Stop._ ** _)_

“Lys!”

I blinked my eyes, trying to process the fact that, yes, I was awake. It was happening more and more often, that I’d start daydreaming. I always dreamed of strange things at night, and though the accidental magic occurred a few more times when I had particularly horrifying dreams — _Thank God I’m a realized reincarnation, otherwise the shit I see would really fuck child-me up… —_ it was slowly getting under control. 

As I learned to wrangle my purple-tinged magic into submission more quickly, learned to work with it, it seemed to _grow._ And when it _grew_ , well… so did the dreams. They were, after all, spilling into my wakefulness.

Ginny was grinning at me, a tiny little three-year-old. She was pale as cream and dotted with freckles, hair like fire and drawn into pigtails, our mother’s hazel-brown eyes set in her face. She preferred wearing bright, warm colors, and was waving her red mittens in my face.

I smiled at her faintly, recognizing the patterns of excitement in her magic (swirling around her, sliding on her skin, drifting into the air) and connecting it to the eagerness in her eyes. I was getting quite good at recognizing the moods of my many siblings and my parents — magic seemed to show a lot more than just power, after all, and once I put that together with facial and bodily expression, well…

(It would be a useful skill, later, to read body language like this.)

My sister and I were three, and as much as it pained me to admit, we were not identical.

“Braid hair, Lys? Please?” my sister begged, smiling though she tried to project her usual puppy-dog eyes at me.

Conniving little thing, she was — she knew that our parents and eldest brothers were weak to that look. She was in the process of learning that I was not… I was generally just weak _to her_ , so with a smile and a nod, she was sitting in front of me — wiggling all over the place, dammit — and letting me undo her pigtails and comb her hair into a neatness a bit more suitable for braiding. 

I wasn’t sure where everyone else was, exactly; it was cold outside, so everyone was probably inside somewhere. Bill and Charlie were at Hogwarts already, Percy was probably reading in his room, the twins were probably playing a prank on him since Ron had been nearly terrified to death when they turned his teddy bear into a spider a bit ago; Dad was at work, Mum was probably in the kitchen — her favorite haunt — with Ron…

Normally, Ginny’d be with her, but Ginny had been a lot more conscientious lately in regards to _me_ , so she was working on trying to get me to play with her more. Or, at least, do things for her since she knew I usually did more things better than she did.

“Is Mummy gon’ make hot chocolate today?” she asked.

“I dunno.” I replied, concentrating on my fingers; being only three, it was a bit hard to have nimble fingers for braiding.

And, as a general rule, I tried not to talk a lot. I wasn’t good at the British accent really, and I wasn’t good at dumbing myself down. I’d get carried away and start spouting complete and grammar-perfect sentences — which was a telling sign of _something wrong_ , for sure. I already worried my parents and eldest brothers with how I’d been able to perform accidental magic so early, along with the nightmares.

“I wan’ her to! It’s really tasty!”

“Mm.”

“I wan’ Bill to come home, too. An’ Charlie!”

“Me too.”

My twin chattered on as I very carefully did her hair. I’d glance up every now and then to look — with fondness — at our intertwining magic. Her maroon had become more of a wine-red, blending with our mother’s candy-apple crimson, and mine had become something a bit more indigo, as I spent a lot of time with our father’s deep blue. And, for whatever reason, my magic was growing more rapidly than her’s was; it was even bigger than Ron’s dawn-colored magic, though not as large as the twins’ — that is, Fred and George’s.

My and my twin’s differences, of course, went beyond our magic.

Fred and George were identical, but Ginny and I were fraternal. Obviously so. (Which meant no switching around pranks, sadly…) It had surprised me, the first time I’d looked at a mirror in this world. Ginny was pale and freckly and autumn-fire; she was all bright colors. I seemed to be a lot… well, toned down — my colors were cooler-toned than hers. My skin wasn’t her ivory, but rather, almost beige; I had much less freckles, only some light ones splattered on my cheekbones and down my nose; I was a bit smaller and slighter than her, and I could tell already that I’d be a lot shorter; my hair was textured differently, thick and heavy and wavy, and instead of carrot-colored, it was a darker copper-orange. 

I had managed to bring some of my features from my last life into this one, it seemed. It was like I was a blend of Ginny and my old self; her pale, obviously Caucasian features melded together with my old honey-colored skin, dark hair, petite stature… The only thing I had that I think was completely free of past-life interference were dad’s blue eyes.

(Lucky me! I liked blue eyes.)

“All done.” I announced, admiring my work. Not bad, for a three-year-old.

Ginny hopped up, beaming. “Thanks, Lyssie!”

“You’re welcome, Ginny.” I said gently, not surprised when she took my hand and started dragging me down the stairs to our mother. Like always, really.

Ginny was just… brighter, I think. More enthusiastic about things, outwardly. She was a little bratty; it delighted her that Molly and Arthur catered to us so quickly (because we were the daughters, because I had nightmares and very powerful magic, because blah blah blah…) and she took full advantage of it. She was _obsessed_ with Harry Potter paraphernalia — way more than I’d have thought — and she blew up quickly, her temper obviously inherited from Molly. The only ones who’d calm her down were Molly or me, and I was cheating with my indigo magic being so familiar to her.

On the other side, I was quieter and let her take the lead — _How the hell was I supposed to be a child again? —_ and where Gin mostly ignored everyone but Molly, Arthur, the exuberant twins, and me (recently), I liked to follow _everyone_ around.

What?

It’s a magical fucking household, I was curious, dammit!

And if I wasn’t following people around, trying to learn everything about the _magical world_ (I died a little inside when I thought about going to Hogwarts and getting wand and being a fucking WITCH), I was usually sitting somewhere with a book nicked from Percy, reading… Or pretending to read as another daydream hit me.

Like I said, the daydreams got worse. More frequent. 

_Shining powder, glowing softly — mixed into the base solvent — soft green — then blue, like the ocean, deep and pretty and unnatural in such a small quantity. More of the shining powder, gently added in pinches and pieces — blue crimsons into a deep violet color. Black flowers — crushed and melted and milked — into a amber-reflective liquid turns it turquoise — color fades as the fire heats it._

_Sharp, deep brown powder — not like the shining prior — makes the potion turn shades of fire, more un-shining powder turns it turquoise again, it stubbornly clings to its violet color as the fire caresses — silvery substance — light and feathery — pinks — reds — purples again — shining powder, it greys, tries to become fire again — it’s just pearl-white when the brown powder quells its color down._

_Draught of Peace, written sharply on the board in spidery handwriting. It is not as beautiful as the woman’s feather and ink-borne hand._

_(_ **_Stop._ ** _)_

_Jets of light flew across the field — screams echoing and being buried by the sounds of destruction — the moon again — the inferno — shadows with their skull-like faces cackled. A bird of fire cried, sweeping over the battlefield, distorting the air around it. The stars winked madly — the sight of the bird. The song was silent, though it was there. The edges of the image were blurry._

_(_ **_Stop._ ** _)_

_“Ring-a-round the rosie,_

_A pocket full of posies,_

_Ashes! Ashes!_

_We all fall down.”_

_(_ **_Stop._ ** _)_

_She sat at the writing desk serenely, eyes cast down at her letter — skirts gathered about her. The feather dipped in the ink — words were elegant and artful — writing to her sister, she missed her. A sigh from painted lips. The window opened into the garden — gazed outside in admiration. Her writing was beautiful — all feathers and ink._

_(_ **_Stop._ ** _)_

Sometimes… Well, honestly, sometimes I felt like I was dreaming about real things. And, really, with magic… It was possible, wasn’t it? Sometimes they’d teach me things. And sometimes I’d actually dream about something that hadn’t happened yet, like when Ginny almost fell down the stairs but I’d managed to catch her and fell instead-

“Lyssie? What’re you doing?”

(Damn displacing daydreams — they made me loose track of where I was, what I was doing, all that.)

I whipped around, thoughts going a mile a minute — _Nighttime, alone, everyone’s asleep except whoever this is, stupid dreams dammit! —_ and guiltily hid a copy of  _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ behind my back in a way that was _completely_ convincing.

Enough that my fourteen-year-old brother Bill smiled at me indulgently. “Getting into Charlie’s books, Lyssie?”

“Mmm… No.” I said, blinking owlishly at my brother.

Bill was like Dad, built tall and lanky, all angles and edges. There was still a softness about him, of course, with age and with our mother’s genes, but he’d be a very tall, very handsome one — one day. (He, Percy, and Ron were more like our dad in physique; Charlie and the twins taking more after our Prewett lineage, more stockily built, though _all_ my brothers would be pretty tall, fucking Europeans.) Bill’s hair was getting a bit long, and I knew he was doing it on purpose, and I was rather excited to see him when he got his fang-earring and whatnot. 

(It was a little strange, seeing a barely-teenage Bill Weasley. Maybe a little less so since no one matched their movie counterpart completely; meaning I was evidently in a more bookverse-based world.)

“That’s a pretty high-level book, Lys,” said my eldest brother gently, “That’s for Hogwarts age, you know. I don’t really think you’re quite that old yet.”

I smiled at the gentle teasing. Bill was a good older brother; a model older brother, really. I definitely wasn’t like him when I was fourteen. It was little wonder that Bill was Ginny’s absolute favorite older brother, with how gently he treated us and how fun he could make things. He emulated our dad, I think.

“I was gonna ask Dad to read.” I said, using my go-to Weasley. (Dad was kinda my favorite.)

Bill smiled. “Ah, I’m not good enough to read to you, Lys?”

My eyes lit up, and I could tell that Bill saw — which he smiled at, definitely pleased that he could get the most sheltered member of the family that happy that quickly. I was Ginny’s _little sister_ , meaning I was the absolute youngest Weasley. Add that to my status as one of the few Weasley females, my tendency to stare into space (the daydreams), my quiet, intelligent nature — worse than Percy, sometimes — and my nightmares that everyone had quickly learned to quell through crawling under the covers with me (it was usually Ginny who performed this sibling duty, without complaint and with much enthusiasm)… 

Well, yes, I was _the most_ sheltered Weasley.

So Bill scooped me up in his arms, book and all, and I let the last remnants of childish _instinct_ laugh quietly as he walked across, exiting Charlie and Percy’s shared room — both brothers were off with friends overnight, which was why I’d been rooting around their bookshelves this early in the morning — and into his lone one (since Ron had decided he was old enough to sleep in the attic a few months ago, just to prove Fred and George wrong about the fact he was “an ickle baby”).

Bill flicked on his bedside lamp and I settled in his lap comfortably.

“Hm, are you sure you want to read this one, Lyssie? What about Ginny’s books?”

“No.” I said stubbornly, “This one.”

Bill sighed. “Alright, Lys. But if you don’t understand something, make sure you ask, okay? That’s how you learn. Even the demon twins- er, that is, Fred and George have to ask for help,” he said patiently.

(As there were two sets of twins in the house, Ginny and I were dubbed uncreatively ‘the girls’ while Fred and George were usually ‘the demon twins’ since, honestly, they were like little monsters on sugar-highs _all the time._ )

“Alright, then, Lys.  _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ _,_ by Newt Scamander…”

Right, then. Reason for the book thievery... Ginny’s Harry Potter picture books were not only grossly untrue, but boring. And _picture_ books. I wanted to learn about _spells_ and _magical creatures_ and stuff. Not… how to tell colors apart, or whatever nonsense. I knew how to do that. In fact, I knew how to see _everyone’s_ colors.

I was indigo, of course, though the edges were a bit darker than usual and the strings were like electric lavender. Dad was all these shades of blue, normally a nice royal tone with bits of violet and crimson swimming inside. Mum was bright, cheerful red; sometimes there were wine tones and her strings glittered like gold. Bill was cool-colored like Dad and I, him and Percy were purples and blues and violets. Charlie was primarily jungle green, with bits of gold in his electric green “strings” — the tendrils of magic that actually _did_ stuff, I hypothesized. The twins were actually different, which was how I told them apart: Fred was a cool burgundy with bits of darkish lilac, while George was almost my color, with bits of playful plum. Ron was like _an explosion_ of sunsets and sunrises, orange dominating golds and crimsons and pale off-whites. Ginny, of course, was maroon-red, flecks of gold.

Oh, and _him._

Peter Pettigrew.

The rat-bastard that was currently owned by Percy was a pale, weak yellow; not nice dawn-yellow or wheat-gold, but almost _mustard._ It was barely there, which I attributed to the fact that he was a rat, and didn’t often use magic anymore, and there was a slow, crippled tension to the tendrils that made me almost sad when I saw it.

“Lyssie? Are you falling asleep?” whispered Bill.

I shook my head. “Augery tells rain. ’N their feathers can’t be quills,” I said dutifully.

Bill sucked in a _tiny_ breath. I suppose it was strange, to see how easily I could summarize concepts beyond my age’s level of understanding. Well… That was a mistake on my part, then, but really, it’s _hard_ to act stupid around people who watch you _24/7._

When I looked up, he was smiling (albeit, upside-down in my perspective). “You’re a smart one, aren’t you, Lys? But it _is_ late, you know, and you really should go to sleep. Ginny might be missing her bunk-mate.”

_Oh, clever Bill! You_ know _I spoil Ginny._

(Probably something I’ll regret later, honestly.)

I nodded, and he closed the small, dog-eared book and took me up in his arms again, quietly padding out to the landing and down to the second floor, which consisted only of my and Ginny’s room. Inside, Ginny’s maroon-red almost _jumped_ to tangle with mine — it was much too used to my presence to _not_ do so — and when Bill tucked me into bed, Ginny’s little hands immediately clutched at my clothing.

He smiled at the sight. “No nightmares tonight, Lyssie?”

I grinned a little. “Ginny won’ let the bad dreams get me.”

“Goodnight, Lys.”

“G’night, Billy.”

( ** _Sleep._** _)_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So, I have no fucking clue what the Burrow looks like, so I googled it. If anyone’s curious, it’s called ‘The burrow and the o’jays’ — that’s my floor plan model. In other news! This is already going a lot better, I think. More fun things’ll be happening in this chapter, a bit more world-building and main character exposition — I’m setting things up for Hogwarts and the main story, see.
> 
> WARNING! I was gonna wait, but I do believe I’ll be putting gore. Some Dark curses are quite messy.
> 
> The only thing I own is Lys, really; and I suppose any non-canon things, but essentially, Harry Potter® just doesn’t belong to me.

 

 

**…**

 

I really shouldn’t have been surprised. Things changed as I aged, and not necessarily in a very good way. Those instincts that I depended on _faded_ ; it made me _terrified_ to do anything without watching Ginny first, to say anything without having her or Ron’s words as reference. Which made me very, very quiet. Which worried my parents and eldest siblings.

And the quiet, in turn, forced me to just keep reading and to just keep trying to control the daydreams. I was done with every single children’s book in the house — including the idiotic Harry Potter ones — and was starting to get into the first year Hogwarts textbooks, too interested in magic to fall back on my usual academic laziness. 

(Interesting to note, however: this body and mind was a lot _quicker_ than my last one, things just made sense, and I could remember and recall information much more easily. Like I said, sweetest deal I ever unknowingly took.)

The colors — the magic-seeing, or whatever the fuck it was — got stronger, too. I could feel the slightest interruptions in the humming, the songs of magic I think, and I started to grow more sensitive to the little twitches and twinges in the colors. The soft, colorful auras seemed to slink and slide over the skin of their owners, the tendrils reaching out to explore and sense and _create…_

In the case of Mum and Dad, it was the luminous little strings that did the actual magic, that sunk into things and made objects float and fly. I would actually _flinch_ at mealtimes during school breaks, sometimes, because the colors were just _everywhere_ and so _fucking vivid._ It gave me headaches, and my discomfort was only soothed by Ginny’s hand taking mine.

And the _fucking dreams._

Goddamn.

There would be a sort of _itch_ in my head, a nagging feeling. Like when you know there was something you forgot to do yesterday. And then it became a headache, building up stronger and stronger. Then it was a _burn._

Normally I’d just let the daydreams come when the pain started, but sometimes I was with someone else or doing something, and I’d have to grit my teeth as my magic — which was growing larger and larger as I tried to press it down, as I tried to learn how to control it better in _order_ to press it down — seemed to quiver; and when I’d finally get somewhere alone, I’d collapse into a fit of visions, seeing stupid, useless things for no reason.

The night-terrors got worse, too, in turn.

_Green lights flashes over and over — black figures in white masks laughing as their wands twirled and the bodies fell. The Killing Curse, over and over and over and over — they got bored of that — their curses became more bloody, more violent. “_ Intrinsecus Novum! _” — flesh split and organs burst out. “_ Dirumpo! _” — limbs and appendages were severed messily. “_ Crucio! _” — how they screamed when that jet of crimson sunk into their skin, frying their nerves one-by-one._

_“Filthy Muggles, about to burst my bloody eardrums —_ Silencio!”

“Crucio! _”_

_“Don’t have too much fun, Bella. The bloody_ Order _might show up soon.”_

_“Let them come! I’ve wanted to kill my bloodtraitor cousin since I started Hogwarts!”_

_(_ **_Stop._ ** _)_

_She was sitting in a meadow filled with wildflowers — fingers were dark and quick, weaving stems and leaves and petals together. A small cut, made with her nail, and the stem slipped inside, she knotted it, she strengthened it with more and more stems — a crown was formed under her hands, and it was finished — she ran into a blurry distance — on a head of flaxen hair and she smiled at them, whoever it was — laughing._

_(_ **_Stop._ ** _)_

_Trees and their leaves rustled overhead — wind playing in the branches. Four pale towers with dark, pointed roofs towered above the main complex, the dome-roof crowning the bronze and golden windows — sky fading into twilight, clouds like pale slivers in the sky — someone was in front of the building, dancing — exhausted and sweating — smiling all the more…_

_(_ **_Stop._ ** _)_

_“_ Ó, urramach Draoidheachd Màthair! Ó ionmhainneach fuil caraid dhomh! Tha mi a' guidhe ort, Màthair mèinn, beannaich mise! _”_

_The girl had dark crimson hair and a petite stature, kneeling in front of a circle of smooth river stones, strange characters drawn into their surfaces — something was shining by the moonlight. Four ash piles, embers glowing weakly, sat in a square formation — stones encircled a wreath of flowers._

_Her voice didn’t wobble. “_ Faigh am bliadhna tabhach mèinn, agus cluinn mo cùis-thagraidh! _”_

_The wreath burst into flames, but the flowers didn’t burn. In fact, it looked like they were growing fresher — rising and blooming and growing. The flames were bright, too-pale for it to be natural — a scent of magic in the air — distorted everything, shimmering air…_

“Mo tagradh airson iochdalachd, cluinn- _“_

_(_ **_Stop._ ** _)_

_The man was tall and lithe, hair the color of autumn-fire tied back to his nape — his wand twirled and sparked in his hands, power behind his voice — sounded like it was underwater — blue eyes hard with determination, then wide with shock — a shadow lunged at him, past his spells and defenses._

_Teeth sunk into his neck, savaging the carotid. He yelled hoarsely, nails ripped into his face, his eyes-_

_A scream._

_“BILL, NO! GREYBACK YOU BASTARD-!”_

_(_ **_Stop._ ** _)_

( ** _Fearfearfearfearfear_** _)_

_STOP!_

_The boy liked to read and sit silently, thinking. His siblings were louder — he sighed — alone — he was the strangest of them. He held them in suspicion — wondering why he was always the odd one out — he was always trying so hard…_

_He pushed his glasses up, running a hand through bright red curls._

_“I’m not coming back.”_

_And he wouldn’t, until the finale — the castle was broken — rubble and flames everywhere — smoke rising and reflecting the light — choking the stars — colors flew everywhere, screams and roars and guttural incantations — he held his wand in his hand, not knowing if he would be welcome — but then he was welcome — a brother who once teased him at his back-_

_An explosion — magic swirling — rubble falling — brother falling-_

_“NO! FRED, NO! NO!”_

_(_ **_Stop._ ** _)_

No, Percy- Fred? Bill… My brothers- No, no no no, not them, not my brothers — Percy who read to me and was so, _so_ excited every time I sat with him and asked him questions — Fred who was never without George, teasing and laughing and playing, messing with me and laughing when I got him back, when _anyone_ got him back — Bill, the eldest, the caretaker and the role model and the one who’d tuck me and Ginny in when Mum and Dad were too tired… 

My brothers, my precious family, no-

_His eyes were glassy — face cold — still-smiling — Percy hunched over him, weeping, sobbing inconsolably. Fred’s corpse was cooling — Percy hated that satisfied smile on his face — he_ hated _it — he stood again — wand clutched in a white-knuckled grip and-_

“AVADA KEDAVRA!”

_-he snarled out the darkest curses he could, rage in every tiny movement of his body, every flick of his wrist, every flit of tear-stained blue eyes. Fred was abandoned behind him — so many brothers were just lying behind him — he was one of the last the last the last-_

_(_ **_Stop._ ** _)_

No, not them- Not my brothers. They were so fucking HAPPY, all the time, they were so kind, they didn’t deserve that! This world was magical, this world was so, so, so much more than the world I’d originally been from, they belonged with that sort of wonder, with that sort of happiness, not this not this not this- 

_(_ **_Stop._ ** _)_

_Green light flooding the once-warm room — green eyes watching — mother died in front of him; the man was laughing, his voice laced with madness — the woman’s voice was echoing to please, please, please, God, someone, please, spare her baby-_

_“_ AVADA KEDAVRA! _”_

_Stop!_

No- Someone save them, someone stop this, someone-

_And the Dark Lord laughed as they writhed before him — Ron, gangly and bleeding, screamed as the wands of white-masked monsters cut into him — brunettes on either side of him, one with greater torture wounds and hair like midnight — the other smaller and darker — blue eyes widened whenever her shrieks of_ painpainpainpain _rang out._

_“DON’T YOU BLOODY TOUCH HER!”_

_Laughter and laughter and more and more curses. “Itty bitty ickle Weasley, so alone in the world!” cackled a voice, “How many of your little litter mates have we killed, baby Weasley?”_

_“I’ll KILL YOU_ **_LESTRANGE!_ ** _”_

“Crucio!” _A pause. “Hm? What’s this? Is baby Weasley crying? Oh, but it wouldn’t be right to call you ‘baby Weasley’ since you’re not really the ickle youngest, are you? Your little sisters… One of them still goes to Hogwarts, at least, yes?”_

_“TOUCH MY SISTERS AND I’LL KILL-“_

_(_ **_Stop._ ** _)_

_“GEORGE, NO!”_

_“His ear, George’s ear, it’s-“_

_“There’s too much blood, dammit, that bloody Snape, I’ll KILL HIM MYSELF-“_

_“He might not make it, look at the curse, he was hit by that fucking Malfoy, look, it’s spreading-“_

_“SOMEONE DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT!”_

_“There’s too much, it’s just like-“_

_(_ **_Stop._ ** _)_

_Men in white masks approached silently — figures ghosting along the night. They didn’t break formation — wands in their hands — eerily silent. One figure led them, his face uncovered — crimson eyes blazing in the shadows — smiling, surrounded by skeletons that followed and bowed, groveled and obeyed…_

_There is no good or evil, only power — and those too weak to seek it. There is no good or evil, only power — and those too weak to seek it. There is no good or evil, only power — and those too weak to seek it. There is no good or evil, only power — and those too weak to seek it. There is no good or evil, only power — and those too weak to seek it. There is no good or evil, only power — and those too weak to seek it. There is no good or evil, only power — and those too weak to seek it. There is no good or evil, only power — and those too weak to seek it. There is no good or evil, only power — and those too weak to seek it. There is no-_

_(_ **_Stop._ ** _)_

**_NO!_**

I woke up to my magic turning the room into a war zone.

Ginny was gone ( _Thank God,_ something inside me whispered) and the glass was shattered again, shards floating lazily in the air, spinning and catching moonlight, shimmering, blinding. The paint was peeling off the walls, the wood underneath splintering, crushed. Books lay open, tearing themselves apart, some of them _melting_ into some unnamed sludge. My magic, the electric lines of indigo, was flitting and _screaming_ , destroying _everything._

And, despite all this, the only thing on my mind was-

( ** _Fear._** _)_

(Where am I?)

(What am I doing?)

(Where are my brothers? Are they okay? Or are they dead?)

_“PROTEGO!”_

My eyes snapped to the door, thrown open — the movement stirred my magic, indigo latching onto it and tearing it into pieces, making it _explode_ , splinters embedding themselves into the walls, the floor, one of them in my arm. But I didn’t feel a thing, staring intently — almost blankly — at the figure that came in, wand out and trying to get to me…

_Dad…_

(I’m in the Burrow, my home.)

(I’m trying to wake up, trying to distinguish reality and dreams.)

(They’re probably awake, worrying for me, comforting Ginny. They are still alive, because I’m four-years-old and the war won’t start until I’m thirteen.)

Abruptly, my indigo magic seemed to surge back to me, leaving the glass and splinters and pages to drop to the floor, raining sharply on me and Dad, who managed to cast a _Protego_ for himself. He looked frantic, and it made me _hurt_ , knowing that he wouldn’t have to deal with any of this craziness if it weren’t for me.

Just another reason to love them more, and to hate myself for forgetting that they wouldn’t really have that happy of an ending.

Before it registered, I was flying across the room, shards of glass and splinters of the walls and furniture ripping the skin off my tiny feet, and Dad had barely any time to prepare himself as I rammed into him, throwing my arms around his neck and sobbing into his neck. He stiffened in shock — I hadn’t cried like this since I was an _infant._ (It was the least I could do, keep myself emotionally in-check, if I kept having these nightmares and bursts of accidental magic. I’d never let myself become swarmed with emotion, not enough to bawl like this…) 

In fact, I really wasn’t ever too emotional of a person unless it involved literature; these emotions being pushed up from the deep, being splayed out across my body language, it was disconcerting, which didn’t help my panic.

“DADDY!” I wailed, too distressed to really be embarrassed that I was a _grown woman_ sobbing into my second father’s chest.

“Lyssie, what’s wrong? Are you okay? You’re bleeding, dear Merlin, Lys-“

“Don’t let Bill fight him! He- He’ll DIE!” ( _That’s not right, he’s not supposed to die, what happened?)_ “Don’t let Percy leave! Don’t let George get hurt, he can’t hear properly, and he’ll be alone- FRED! Don’t let Fred die- Where’s Fred? Where is he?? And Ron! She’s going to TORTURE HIM!” 

I was shrieking and sobbing, suddenly trying to fight my way to my brothers, to _really_ make sure they were okay… The fear was all-encompassing, I couldn’t think, I was just seeing Percy’s back and Bill’s savaged DEAD face and George’s blood all over foreign hands and Fred’s corpse and Ron’s screaming, desperate eyes, over and over and over and over and over-

“Lyssie, your brothers are fine-“

“NO! Where’s Percy? Where’s BILL? _Where’s Fred?_ They’re going away, I NEED TO STOP THEM!” I screamed, knowing I wasn’t properly dumbing myself down or lisping like Ginny did right now. 

I needed to stress the importance to keeping them safe, my brothers were _going to get hurt and_ ** _that was completely unacceptable._**

(They weren’t my first family, but I loved them dearly and if anyone tried to take away these people, these _good people_ who deserved so much more in a littlest sister and so much more in a wonderful world, **_I would rip them to shreds with my bare hands._** )

“Shhh, Lys, shhhh…”

“NO NO NO! Greyback’s gonna _get Bill_ and Percy’s gonna leave and George is gonna get cut up and _Fred’s gonna DIE_ and _Ron’s gonna get CRUCIO’ED_ , you can’t let them, Dad, you need to stop them, I need to protect them!” I was screaming hysterically — _That’s not supposed to happen, Bill’s supposed to live, George should be okay, Ron’s supposed to escape Malfoy Manor, WHY IS IT DIFFERENT? —_ “You-Know-Who- Voldemort- Red eyes- Green light- DAD!”

My brothers, my family, they were going to DIE-

_Fred’s eyes were glassy, his face cold and still-smiling. Percy hunched over him, weeping, sobbing inconsolably. Bill splayed out on the ground, eyes empty and dead though his heart was beating — slowing with every rise of his chest — face covered in horrific wounds — neck throbbing with pain — gushing blood. George’s wounds — growing black with rot and the woman-who-was-not-Bellatrix-Lestrange was panicking — he was slipping through her fingers. Ron was in fleshy pieces, gritting his teeth against_ Crucio _after_ Crucio _, looking at the dark girl with wild brown curls with something desperate — loving — it HURT._

_Stop, dammit STOP!_

And then I burst into hysterical sobbing again, unsure of what was going on outside of my arms clutching my dad’s neck and the cold wetness that was seeping into his nightclothes. I was being moved, I think, and Dad was shushing me softly but distractedly. 

Eventually, I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to think of better things, of happier things, but it was hard to do that when your child instinct was panicked and your magic was screaming and no one understood that bad things were going to happen, bad things were going to tear us apart. Only I got it.

And I had to go to sleep, knowing I’d see it over and over and over…

 

**…**

 

_“Where’s Lyssie?” asked Ginny, looking worried with tears streaks all down her face._

_Dad sighed. “In me and your Mum’s room, luv.”_

_Ginny squirmed in Bill’s lap, but he stopped her from getting up and going upstairs to her twin sister._

_The entire Weasley clan, sans the youngest daughter, was gathered in the kitchen. Dad was sitting at the head of the table, as was his right — Mum was standing off to the side, eyes red-rimmed and glassy. Bill sat with Ginny, Charlie sat with an arm around a fretting Ron — another around Percy — the twins were together, in between Ron and Bill, looking uncharacteristically solemn._

_“Now,” said Dad quietly, making everyone look at him at once, “we all know that Guinevere has nightmares.”_

_There were nods all around. Even Percy had comforted a nightmare-plagued little sister once or twice, though it was mostly the littler siblings that pitched in to help. It was as simple as crawling into their little sister’s bed — shaking her awake — staying with her as she fell asleep again, clutching at them even as her breaths evened out._

_Dad sighed again. “I suppose I should have seen this coming… Your great-grandfather, Septimus Weasley, my grandfather… He was a type of Seer called a Clairvoyant. I believe that your little sister inherited the ability as well.”_

_Ron asked curiously, “Lys can see the future?”_

_Fred and George looked delighted at the prospect, identical grins on their faces. “D’you think she can win us a lottery or somethin’?”_

_Arthur Weasley waited for quiet, which came quickly with how grave he looked._

_“Not just the future. She can probably See the past and present, too. My grandfather would See visions of all times, and he couldn’t control it. Now, you all remember that the war with You-Know-Who ended just before your sisters were born?”_

_(_ **_Stop._ ** _)_

_There is no good or evil, only power — and those too weak to seek it. There is no good or evil, only power — and those too weak to seek it. There is no good or evil, only power — and those too weak to seek-_

_Pale, elegant fingers on a wand of yew and phoenix feather. He cast a_ Priori Incantaco _just for fun, just to see what power his wand was capable of…_

Crucio Crucio Crucio Crucio Avada Kedavra Intrinsecus Novum Dirumpo Crucio Protego Crucio Carnificigo Cruor Infernemecia Animate Ignisarium Avada Kedavra Avada Kedavra Crucio Crucio Contego Confrigo Dirumpo Morsmordre Expulso-

_“Ah, what wonderful work we have done together.”_

_The yew wood seemed to gleam in the weak candlelight._

_(_ **_Stop._ ** _)_

_Nods, again — “I think that our Lys has been Seeing events from the war, while she sleeps, and that’s why she’s scared of sleeping alone.”_

_“She’s scared of sleeping at all,” murmured Bill as the littler ones erupted into whispers of horror — “I always see her sneaking around, late at night. I have to read her to sleep most nights, Dad, is… is this why?”_

_Dad looked at Bill very seriously. He studied his oldest son, then gave a small nod. “I’m sure this is part of it. I have no doubt, Bill, that… that Lyssie has Seen deaths. Among other things that You-Know-Who’s side was capable of.”_

_(_ **_Stop._ ** _)_

_Two men with hair like fire — stocky builds — crouched slightly like coiled tigers — back to back — blurred smiles on their faces, and a ring of shadows standing around with. The shadows pulsed with sickly magic — like oil, like_ grease _— and they moved as one, converging on those bright flames — rabid beasts…_

_“Together, brother.” said one — “Together.” affirmed the other._

_The two men — brothers — took down five of the many, many Death Eaters (there was nothing else they could be) and when they finally fell, their bodies were levitated above and strung up like gutted, skinned animals. The shadows cackled at the mess they left behind — they Apparated away from the scene loudly — arrogantly — victoriously._

_Rot was setting into the bodies when a woman who was like the two — fire-haired, stockily-built— found their bodies, broken and strung up like shattered puppets, she let out a scream so horrified, so_ desolate _, that those around her flinched and tears slipped down — they had to turn away._

_(_ **_Stop._ ** _)_

_Bill shivered, just a little. “Is… Is this also why Lys is so bloody smart? And quiet?”_

_“I don’t doubt it.”_

_Percy broke the room into silence again, though, with his own question — “Dad, what’s going to happen to Lys?”_

_Arthur Weasley seemed tired. “I wanted you all to know this, because I wanted you all to promise — I mean it,_ promise _— not to tell anyone. To keep your sister’s secret. You see, it’s a very painful and rare ability; if anyone knew, she might be in danger.”_

_“Danger, how?” Percy pressed, brow furrowed._

_The Weasley Paterfamilias sighed — “It’s a powerful ability, especially if a Clairvoyant can control it, even a little. People would love to know things about the past, to see what’s going on in the present, and to know what’s going to happen in the future.” — “Is the Ministry gonna lock Lyssie up?” Ginny asked fearfully — eyes wide._

_Molly reared up in indignant, righteous anger. “I’d like to see them_ try!” _my mother_ spat _, “No, no, children, not that kind of danger-“_

_“They just might.” — “ARTHUR!”_

_“No, they have to know, Molly. Yes, Ginny, Lys might be taken away. Clairvoyants are rare, powerful, and there hasn’t been one in Western Europe since my grandfather; and even then, Septimus Weasley was a weak Clairvoyant that rarely Saw anything; and yet, he had to report to the Unspeakables at the Ministry every week.”_

_Charlie muttered, “Lys has bad dreams every night. Visions.”_

_Arthur nodded. “Your sister is exceptionally stronger than any Seer I’ve researched, and… I will be honest, that scares me. And her. I’m going to speak to her tomorrow, when she’s calmer, to explain, but I wanted you all to understand why you’ve had to sit with her while she’s been sleeping all these years-“_

_“Can I come with, Dad?”_

_“Ron?”_

_“When you talk to Lyssie. ‘Cos, you know, she’ll be scared. I calm her down best!”_

_Ginny got up off of Bill’s lap, glaring at Ron hotly. “Do not!”_

_“Do too!” Ron protested, glaring right back at Ginny._

_“Do not!”_

_“Do too!”_

_“Do NOT!”_

_“CHILDREN!” thundered Molly Weasley. They all quieted, shrinking in on themselves. “This is not a laughing matter! Your little sister has been dreaming of very, very bad things her entire life! She needs your help!”_

_Stop._

It was warm. I was cocooned in a quilt, curled up due to a lack of someone to hold onto during my sleep. (I was apparently quite the cuddler in this life.) My eyes didn’t really want to open, so I cracked them open only a little. Where was I? Light was trying to shine through the cloth, but I shut my eyes again. Clairvoyance explained _so much_ and I wanted to know more, even risking the bloodier visions, because I could handle it. I _needed_ to be able to handle it.

_Arthur sighed and buried his head in his hands — only realized he wasn’t alone when Percy tugged at his sleeve — “Yes, Percy?” — “Is this why Lys can read so well?”_

_Arthur blinked in surprise. “Can she?”_

_Percy nodded. “She reads Charlie’s second-year books with me sometimes- She’s said she already read all the first-year stuff, like me. And I know she reads Mum’s cooking books. I said I wouldn’t tell, but maybe it’s ‘cos she’s a Calirvont?”_

_“Clairvoyant.”_

_“Yes, that. I mean… if she’s been Seer-ing all kinds of things since she was born, maybe she’s super smart ‘cos of it, Dad.”_

_Arthur Weasley smiled at his son. “Thank you for telling me, Percy.” — “Anything to help, Dad. Between all sets of twins, I think Lys is my favorite.”_

_(_ **_Stop._ ** _)_

It’s time to wake up, I think. I knew it was, but I just felt so tired… It must’ve been the amount of magic I’d used last night. Or earlier. I’m not sure of the time. But I felt drowsy and exhausted, even though I knew that I should be up soon. Exhausted. Enough, thankfully, to numb whatever emotions the visions were trying to bring up in me. But I had to get up, to get answers, I had to piece things together, I had things to do… But I was so warm and comfortable…

Clairvoyance.

_I realized that it explained bloody everything now. And it gave me a fucking great excuse to knowing what I knew from my past life — that is, all the Harry Potter series things._

Wait.

Why are things different?

Was I REALLY a Clairvoyant? Things I saw — specifically the parts with Ron, with George, with Bill — they were different from the Harry Potter series that I knew. More violent. More _devastating._ They didn’t happen, not the way I remembered; and I remembered a fucking SHIT-TON of things from the Harry Potter books.

I sighed to myself, and decided to do the cowardly thing… and put it away for later. Right now, what I knew for sure: Bill was going to be attacked and probably scarred for life if not killed, George was going to be mutilated, Percy was going to abandon us and come back only to witness his brother die, and Fred was, of course, going to _fucking die._ This much I knew would happen, this much I was sure of in its entirety.

This much, I was going to _fucking never accept._

My hands balled into fists, enough that I felt my nails pierce my palms. I gritted my teeth tightly, feeling the creak in my jaw.

_I won’t allow it,_ I thought to myself fiercely, _NONE of it. Not what should happen, and not what I Saw that might happen._

My eldest brother, my Bill. The one who read to me in the middle of the night, the one who gave crooked, bemused smiles whenever I said something a bit too smart for my age. He was going to be mauled by Fenrir Greyback, possibly _killed_ by that savage werewolf? George was going to go half-deaf, separated from his twin and best friend? Percy was going to become so isolated that he’d run away from home, only to come back to a dead little brother and assign blame to himself? Fred was going to _die_ , to be separated from George? Ron was going to be _tormented_ at _Death Eaters’_ hands?

_FUCK THAT NOISE._

( _Between all sets of twins, I think Lys is my favorite.)_

They loved me. They fucking loved me, they spoiled the hell out of me, they taught me everything they knew about the magical world. My brothers, my parents, my older sister… they adored me, even though I was near-silent and not outwardly emotion, even though I displayed frighteningly powerful accidental magic and had nightmares almost every night, even though I was an all-around pain in the ass with my endless questions, _even though I still deluded myself into thinking of them as fictional characters…_

They loved me, and there was nothing in this world now, not even my own newly-shattered delusions (defense mechanisms, idiocy, etc.), that would stop me from reciprocating _more_ than in full, that would stop me from protecting _every single one of them_ from whatever bloody destinies they had in store.

_This world is real, and I am living in it. These_ people _are real, and they are mine._

Mine to be loved by, mine to love, mine to laugh with, mine to comfort, mine to defend.

I shut my eyes again. Reality really _does_ hurt, or so they say.

“Lys?”

I jolted. Then I poked my head out of my blanket burrito curiously, blinking one eye at my dad peeking into the room. I was on my parents’ bed, curled up in the center. Their room was soothing as always, smelling like them, warm and tastefully cheerful. Dad was halfway inside, looking at me with kindness in his eyes that I was sure I didn’t rightly deserve.

Mum was probably cooking downstairs already and it was Dad was opened the door and poked his head in. I couldn’t bring myself to smile, even as he tried his best; I was too focused on how I was a horrible fucking sister and my family was going to go to shit and I didn’t know how to help them without fucking everything up.

(What I knew was that I was GOING TO, not really HOW TO, though.)

“Hi, Dad.” I said quietly.

He walked in, followed, surprisingly, by Fred and George; they sat on the edges of the bed, and the demon twins looked oddly solemn. I caught a flash of all my siblings sitting around the breakfast table, arguing on who was going to come to help Dad tell me that I was a Seer-Clairvoyant.

The vision of my siblings arguing like normal made me smile, just faintly. Fred and George took that as their cue to speak:

“Well, Lyssie, we’ve-“

“-got bad news for you.”

I blinked at them, faking confusion. Fred and George nodded at me.

“Look at her, Gred-“

“-she’s so naively hopeful, Forge-“

“-that makes it tough, but we’ve got a duty to uphold-“

“-we have to tell you, Lys.”

I smiled a little at their antics. They seemed encouraged by my smile, and went on:

“Lyssie, you see-“

“-you’ve contracted permanent Spattergroit-“

“-and you’re going to die tomorrow.”

While I loved the twins, I frowned. What the hell were they trying to do, comforting a little girl like that? I suppose my face took on an acceptable level of horror, because the twins broke out into identical grins and laughs.

“Just kidding!”

“Nothing like that, silly-

“-no, no, no, you aren’t going to die-“

“-you’re just a Seer, Lys!”

Ah. So they were going to trick me into thinking that my ability was not that bad by comparing it to a deadly affliction. Rather clever of them, actually. It would work, maybe. I didn’t know, so I just giggled at their silliness. They beamed at a job well-done, which had me turning to Dad, who was watching the whole thing with warm, blue eyes.

“A Seer, Dad?” I asked hesitantly.

He nodded, smiling softly.

“It’s from great-granddad, Lys!”

“Y’know, the one who was a seventh son of a seventh son?”

Dad gave the boys a stern look, but softened as he gazed at me. “Your dreams, Lys. I know you don’t like talking about them and you say you don’t remember them... but you do, don’t you?”

I glanced at Fred and George, who were sporting enormous, reassuring grins.

“I was scared.” I said, quite honestly, “I kept seeing things. Lots of things.” Then I reached over and pulled on Fred’s sleeve, holding it tightly. “Bad things. I didn’t want them to be real, but I think they are.”

_Empty eyes — last smile — “You’re joking, Perce!”_

I shivered at the memory. That wasn’t just one of my favorite characters, not anymore. That was my _goddamn brother._ My family. The kid that made me laugh as easily as breathing, who brought back strange trophies from the orchard (and woods beyond, where we were forbidden to go) to cheer up his too-serious little sister.

Dad nodded gravely. “They are. And it’s alright. Fred and Georgie here represent all your siblings — you’re perfectly safe with us. And you don’t have to hide your dreams if you don’t want to, not from any of us; we Weasley’s stick together.”

I teared up a little, admittedly. Damn child instincts. I thought it was only fear, but…

(Or, perhaps, I just didn’t want to admit I was a ginormous sap.)

“Thanks, Dad.” I said hoarsely, “Thanks Fred and George.”

The demon twins grinned. George turned to Dad triumphantly. “See, Dad? I bet Lys uses her Seer powers to tell which of us is which!”

_No, I actually use your colors... which… is something I should tell Dad. ‘Cos I’m not sure if that’s a Seer thing or not. Oh god, why is Guinevere Weasley such a pain?? This little girl would’ve been FUCKED if I hadn’t been a reincarnation…_

Dad smiled to humor them, I could tell. “Well, go on and brag to your brothers, then. I know you’re dying to tell them that Lys didn’t cry even a _bit_ because you two were here, hm?”

“That’s right! C’mon, Fred- Bye, Lys! We’ll prank ya later!”

“Shuddup, you idiot, George, she didn’t need to know-“

The door shut.

I was four, so it was understandable that Dad pulled me into his lap and settled against the headboard of his and Mum’s bed, wrapping the blankets around the both of us; I felt cocooned and safe again, but it was even better because Dad’s blue strands of magic were wrapping themselves protectively around my indigo colors, and I kept getting flashes of soul-deep _safesafesafelovehappycomfortsafe!_ I leaned into his chest, feeling every bit the child my physical body was…

“I… Icantellthemapartbecauseofthecolors.” I stuttered out.

Dad hmmm’ed at me gently, as if he was encouraging me to go on (which he probably was). I shouldn’t have been this nervous about this — _I’m fucking twenty-four! —_ but I refused to look at Arthur Weasley’s eyes, the ones I had, too. My previous life’s dark coloring had spilled into my skin and hair, but my eyes were all Dad’s. It was something Ginny was infinitely jealous of, because she claimed brown was a dull color (I had brown eyes before, and I rather missed them, but I didn’t tell Ginny that).

Great. 

My thoughts were all over the place.

I took a deep breath, and started again. “It’s not just dreams. I can see colors. They hum.”

I cringed at myself. _Well, well, well, aren’t you a Luna Lovegood all of a sudden?_

Who, by the way, I’ve met. She’s a lot less weird than I thought, but then again, she’s only four. And it’s Ginny who plays with her; I don’t play much, I like to read and stuff, and that’s probably why Percy likes me best-

Babbling.

I’m babbling _to myself._ God, how sad was that? I was a fucking _adult_ , how hard was it to tell the person I trusted the most in this life? (And wasn’t that a strange though, that out of everyone in the Harry Potter universe to latch onto, I chose one of the more obscure ones, a character who wasn’t taken really _all_ that seriously… Well, I have proven that wrong, Dad was probably the best person I knew.)

“You’re blue, dark blue usually.” I went on, trying to make my Dad understand. If anyone could understand, it was Arthur Weasley, I’ve learned. “Mummy’s bright red, with some oranges and purples and golds. Ginny’s reddish-maroon now, she used to be just maroon, though. Bill’s blue and purple, and Charlie’s dark green, and Percy’s blue and steel-grey and silver. Fred and George have different colors, Fred is dark red and George is kinda purple-red. Ron’s red and orange and yellow and cream.”

“And you, Lys?”

“I’m purple. Bluish-purple, ‘cos I used to be bright purple but then you always held me when I was a baby and I became a bit more blue. So I’m indigo now.” I said quickly, wondering if this was making any fucking sense.

Dad thought to himself for a while.

Then he asked, gently, “What do the colors do?”

“Do?”

“Do they tell you anything? Do anything?”

I blinked, then whispered quietly, “They’re magic.”

He gasped a little; I wouldn’t have noticed, if I weren’t lying down on him. I went on anyways, though.

“There’s a… an _aura_ around people, waves of-of color floating just outside our skin. It’s… It’s like air, or fog, but it’s… it’s _more._ There are threads, glowing — same color, though — and they float through the air. They… When Mummy summons a book, it’s the threads that grab it for her. And her magic will… er, sing. Like it’s happy to be used, or something. But… it’s more than just that, it’s… when I have nightmares, Ginny’s colors mix with mine and I can feel… Sometimes, the way the threads and fog move, or how the magic hums, or when my magic touches someone else’s, I can _tell things.”_

“What sorts of things, little queen?”

The use of Dad’s very rarely-spoken nickname for me made me relax considerably. I clutched his sleeves with my small hands, wondering if I was a bad person for taking advantage of such a kind family that I really shouldn’t have belonged to. 

(They gave so much to me. Me, who was alone in this new world, and what did I give back? Nightmares, accidental magic… I took their money and their food and I couldn’t even make them happy like a normal child would-)

I swallowed. “You’re safe. You’re home. Mummy’s nurturing, comfort, discipline. When her magic are quick and twitchy and loud, she’s mad, but sometimes I can… if I make my indigo touch her red, I can tell that she’s worried… or something.”

“And how did you magic move last night, Lyssie?”

I blinked, trying to remember. “It was… angry. Scared. Trying to protect me by… by getting rid of the dreams. But… but the dreams don’t go away, so it’s just… lashing out. The lines were all… wonky. Wrong. And the fog, it was _exploding_ out, twisting into more threads to do more damage… I tried to keep it down, like usual, but…”

“Do you keep it down a lot, Lys?”

“Uh-huh. I almost hurt Ginny once, ‘cos of the broken glass. So never let it out, even when it wants to help or if I want something.” I muttered, opting for the truth. At this point, as long as no one found out about the past-life thing, I was fine with my family knowing it all. I trusted my Dad.

He was amazed, as evident by the widening of his eyes, that I remembered that far back. And then his eyes were filled with tears; I could see his thoughts all across his face. (Arthur Weasley was not one for tears, and I hadn’t yet seen him cry before; unless one counted when my first word was ‘Da’, but I really don’t count happy-tears.) He realized that I’d _truly_ been having visions ever since I was born. 

Now, it wasn’t necessarily _true…_ the last _bad_ bout of accidental magic had been because I realized I was in the Harry Potter universe, among other things. But in a way, it _was_ true because I _have_ been having strange dreams since I was born in this world. And I knew things that I shouldn’t.

“You talked to everyone last night, didn’t you?” I asked, “You told them I’m a… Clairvoyant.”

“Was this another dream?”

I nodded. “Right before you and Fred and Georgie came in, I Saw. It’s because great-grandad was a seventh son of a seventh son? I don’t understand why his ability would pass down to his second great-granddaughter. Two isn’t an important magical number.”

Dad chuckled a little, but it didn’t seem as lighthearted as I know he probably wanted it to. “I’ve always wondered why you were so smart and quiet, Lyssie. Do you See lots of things like this, Lys? Is this why you’ve been reading since you were little?”

“Mm-hm. I See stuff all the time. Every night, and now it’s getting… Well, I See stuff even when I’m not sleeping, now. I See a lot of the Muggle world, you know?” I beamed at my father. “I can teach you how electricity works!”

_If I can make up the pain of having such a problematic little daughter, I’ll gladly learn how Muggle electricity works._

He laughed again, more genuinely this time. “What else do you See, little queen?”

“Lots of whales! And I saw a woman writing once. And I saw how to make the Draught of Peace, all the colors and stuff. I See all sorts of neat stuff, Dad, so… I mean… It’s not like… I’m not just Seeing bad things, right?”

“It certainly doesn’t sound like it.”

I smiled. “So don’t be sad, okay? I can tell you are. Your magic is wilting.”

He looked intrigued by that. “You can sense our emotions?”

Shaking my head, I answered, “Only when… Only when they’re very, very deep. Soul-deep.”

“Core-deep,” he muttered, catching on quick. “You’re seeing the spillages of magical cores. So you don’t see surface emotions, or even the reasons behind them…” Then he smiled at me. “Well, my little queen, I’m quite sure you’re not an Empath, or an Assessor, but I reckon, Lyssie, you’ve got another Seer ability.”

I frowned. “Is that even allowed?” _Being this bloody powerful should be outlawed._

Dad’s chest rumbled with soft laughter. “We’ll see, Lyssie. We’ll explore the family trees, see what we can find. I’ll be there, with you, every step of the way. But… You understand why we have to keep your abilities a secret, luv?”

_There is no good or evil, only power — and those too weak to seek it._

I nodded. “He’s not dead.”

My father looked sad. “Nothing evil dies for long, little queen. If he’s not truly dead, then someone else will take his place.”

My grip on my father tightened. I seemed to constantly forget how very _safe_ a father’s arms were, until I was embraced again. “There will always be people who’ll want to take advantage of my abilities.”

Dad nodded grimly. “Yes, luv. But we’ll protect you. Your mother, your sister, and all your brothers. All of us. We’ll _protect you._ And we always will.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Oh wow, I didn't expect people to actually like this. I mean, I hoped you would, but you guys are being really nice. Thank you, all of you. 
> 
> Fair warning, Lys might come off as overpowered for a while. Which I wanna say right now, is due to my absolute fascination with magic. I think I have a tag about really trying to tone her down, but there are reasons behind why, and I also tried to balance it out later. Still working out the kinks of this, doing a lot of world building.

 

 

**…**

 

I suppose this is where the butterfly effect comes into play?

Arthur Weasley was a veritable, _secret fucking genius._ Which, I think, he passed down parts of to all of us, which is why some of my siblings were very specialized in their fields of interest. 

The kids who got it in the best ways were Percy, Ron, and me. Percy was just _good at everything he pursued,_ which was mostly academics and management. Ron was a ridiculously talented strategist, and had an incredible memory when he was focused on something (which was probably why he wasn’t all that good at academics, because he just _didn’t care_ ). 

Me?

Well, I learned how electricity learned in, like, a month. Which was without instruction, I just kinda started concentrating on it in visions, I started going to town to buy and take apart random electronic appliances.

And this is where Dad comes back in, because he figured it out _in a week._ And this is a man who was NEVER exposed to the Muggle world or its technology before, who grew up without knowing any of this electrons and magnetism shit, _and he still mastered it in a week._ A week.

Anyway, the butterfly effect comes into play because Arthur _motherfucking_ Weasley became a more-than-adequate Occlumens and slightly-less-than-adequate Legilimens _in four months._ Four months. FOUR FUCKING MONTHS. My father taught himself — and I’m not sure who he got to help him, so I’m just gonna go with self-study for this — how to safely and effectively break into minds, and how to shield himself from those breaks. (FOUR MONTHS???)

When I expressed horrified amazement at his accomplishment, Dad just smiled.

“Anything for my family, Lys,” he said in explanation.

_That’s some serious protective instinct._

Butterfly effect: I’m born, so Dad becomes a skilled Occlumens and Legilimens in order to teach me how to control my stupidly-overpowered Clairvoyance. And I’m not complaining. Anything that makes him stronger, that makes my _family_ stronger, I’ll gladly get on board with.

I was getting better, now that my family was involved. Before, visions came to me at night and hounded my dreams, showing me things I wanted to avoid. It came in bursts of pain and fear that made me wake up screaming. I mean, it _still_ did that, but much less in number and much more in intensity. Which is… maybe worse? If only for my own sanity, I decided it was better. The Weasley household could, at least, sleep peacefully for the majority of a two-week period.

With Dad training me in Occlumency — Legilimency, I’d never really need (or so he thought) — my new hobby, besides trying to learn absolutely everything I could, was meditation. It helped, actually, to look back on past visions and try to sort them out, and then start categorizing them. The practice was a preliminary step to organizing my mindscape, which I hadn’t quite gotten to yet; it was an advanced Occlumency technique that even Dad was still rudimentary with, so I didn’t feel all that bad. But being able to sort out my thoughts was a good practice, and it calmed me down. That, or the more traditional magical meditation of becoming metaphysical again and trying to submerge myself in the own folds of my indigo-colored magical core.

Control over my magic was a must, so that I didn’t lash out in fear. Especially because it was growing rapidly, something that Dad attributed to the fact that I was a Seer and Seer-witches were always a bit magically stronger than norm. Also especially because my physical condition would never, _ever_ be very good; witches with Seer abilities always had some sort of physical defect, along with the usual side effects of their ability, due to the strain of Seer magic on mortal bodies.

It was a fucking pain, but I needed to exert _so much_ self-control in everything I did.

The first incident where I sunk too deeply into my Clairvoyant visions, I had to be shaken “awake” and it was a very terrified and panicking Percy that supported me when I collapsed onto him, blood leaking from my lips. 

So, right, most sheltered Weasley? I became _even more so_ after they all figured out that if I didn’t try to control my Clairvoyance, my magic would _actually kill me._ And I didn’t know _why,_ I just knew that that’s what would happen. Fuck my life.

“Lys, are you sure you don’t just wanna go inside?” asked Ron worriedly.

Fred, George, Bill, Charlie, and Ron had the old, rickety brooms from the shed in their hands. Ginny, Percy, and I were following them outside to watch them play the Weasley version of mini-Quidditch.

Ron, ever the protective big brother, was eyeing my too-pale complexion with intense scrutiny.

I nodded. “Mm-hm. We’re just gonna read and watch.”

He narrowed his eyes, then glanced at our brothers behind him, waiting for him to get into his usual Keeper position. “Okay… But if you get another ‘dizzy spell’, you’ve got to go inside, alright, Lyssie? Promise?”

‘Dizzy spell’ was the Weasley’s official key word to ‘Clairvoyant vision’.

“Promise.” I said solemnly, deciding to humor my big-little-brother.

He nodded, and then trotted to the rest of our athletically-inclined brothers to start the game. I smiled after him; all of the family was always so _worried_ now. I suppose when they told me that I didn’t have to hide anything from them, they weren’t quite expecting me to go ahead and start learning the entire Hogwarts curriculum (scavenging older brothers’ books and homework was fun, sometimes), reading classical works from the Muggle library in down in the town, _and_ still go through the Occlumency training and magical meditation that I did. It made them think I was pushing myself, I think.

(My family was fucking adorable.)

But what could I say? Apparently my father was a genius — makes me wonder why the Jesus FUCK he hadn’t been promoted yet when he could literally learn Occlumency in less than half a year — and with my drive to be stronger, to protect these people who I owed so much to and loved _so fucking much_ , of COURSE I’d start learning all this shit! 

Honestly! Dad was completely fine with it, as long as I meditated at least once a week and tried to put a pattern to my visions.

 

**…**

 

There was just so much absolute _shit_ I had to catch up on in this world, I felt like things were slipping through my tiny fucking fingers.

I wanted to get the stupid-ass general education curriculum over with, of course; things would heat up when I started going to Hogwarts — _Death Eaters storming the castle, black cloaks flying out behind them — crooked wands in their hands — led by a cackling woman with crazed violet eyes and dark, wild hair and a penchant for shattering things around her like — a bull in a china shop…_ — so I needed to be sufficiently skilled to defend my brothers and sister by then. My goal was to finish Hogwarts curriculum before I actually got there, so I could use the lack of constant supervision to start learning how to fight for my life.

(It was mostly just theory and shit, since I didn’t dare use a wand… I wasn’t _quite_ sure how the Trace worked, and until I was, I didn’t want to risk the attention of the Ministry. That’s exactly what we wanted to avoid, actually.)

So, there was that.

But then I also had to be a goddamn Clairvoyant — _Thanks Grandpa Weasley, you motherfucker! —_ with really, really powerful magic, so I needed to become an Occlumens and a pro at magical control before everything else. So, an hour or two of meditation every week _at least_ ; and lots and lots of practice with Dad, which was headache inducing for the both of us.

Okay, that’s cool too. So I have to be more in touch with my indigo magical core and be an Occlumens, sure. (“You’re making quite a lot of progress, actually, luv.” “Really?” “Yes, I’d say that you’re a natural at this. You’ll probably get to my level within a month or two.” “Huh. Dad, does genius run in the family?”)

Anyways, with these two things _and_ making sure I paid attention to _all_ my siblings and parents on a regular basis — playing with Ginny and Ron and the twins, reading with Percy and Charlie and Bill, cooking with Mum, learning how to do nerdy Muggle shit with Dad — it _completely_ fucking slipped my mind that there was something wrong with this world.

_Laughter and laughter and more and more curses. “Itty bitty ickle Weasley, so alone in the world!” cackled a voice, “How many of your little litter mates have we killed, baby Weasley?”_

_“I’ll KILL YOU_ **_LESTRANGE!_ ** _”_

“Crucio!” _A pause. “Hm? What’s this? Is baby Weasley crying? Oh, but it wouldn’t be right to call you ‘baby Weasley’ since you’re not really the ickle youngest, are you? Your little sisters… One of them still goes to Hogwarts, at least, yes?”_

_Stop._

I blinked at the strange nightmare. It was scary, of course, and I almost felt like I was there, being tormented alongside my littlest older brother. (Many of the nightmares I had were of my brothers’ respective mutilations at the hands of the fucking Death Eaters, and sometimes, I swore, I’d see Bill, Fred, _and_ George die… Those were the worst…) It was wrong though, was the point. These things didn’t happen. Not according to what I knew-

_But you don’t know everything. Why do you exist here, in this world?_

Which led me to believe that this was NOT canon!Harry Potter-verse, which was _really fucking bad._ Like. It’s like… It’s like I was actually flying in blind here. Which was strange to think about, because one would assume reincarnation is supposed to be more random and frightening. Meaning, I’d derived some sorta comfort from being born into a universe I was mostly knowledgable of. Meaning, I was a cheating scumbag and this was probably the world telling me to fuck off. The only plus I had was my stupidly overpowered Clairvoyance, but it also destroyed my physical abilities and made me quite sick a lot of the time… A balance, of sorts.

Balance.

My eyes widened.

“Dad?” I asked quickly, cutting into our Occlumency time.

(Interesting to note: Dad never caught onto the fact that I was a reincarnation when he made periodic little pokes into my mind. All he ever saw were clips of blurry, distorted visions and my own memories and experiences of this life as Guinevere Weasley.)

Dad gave me a reassuring smile. “Yes, Lyssie?”

I twiddled my thumbs. I sounded so intelligent most of the time, but when it came to magical knowledge, I was kinda just a kid. Hurt my pride a little, I guess.

“Magic… Does magic balance itself? Naturally?”

He gave me a questioning, but fond (as in, ‘ah, my littlest is being profoundly curious again’) look. “What do you mean, Lys?”

I frowned. “Like in Clairvoyance. Grandpa Weasley was just a little frailer, and his Sight was weak. But me… I have asthma and I get sick _all the time_ and it’s easy for me to get hurt, but my Sight is…” _Monstrous._ “…really strong.”

Dad tilted his head in thought. Then he nodded, slowly. “Yes, I see how you came to that conclusion, Lyssie. To answer your question, though: Yes, magic is a balance. I’m no Magical Theorist, but the gist of it is that magic is semi-sentient; it’s not a have-all, fix-all, in any sense — for something to be gained, something must be lost, etcetera.”

Nodding, I went on to practice my Occlumency with Dad (I was growing much more successful each day, but it might’ve been because I was already quite an introspective being and my mind was pretty developed with how old I actually was) and I kept that bit of information in my head, carefully piling ideas around it. Trying to connect it to something, because there _had to be_ a connection between this non-canon HP world and my being here.

The problem, I think, was that I didn’t even know what questions to ask in order to figure out why this world was different, what was different about it besides the horribly gory futures of my brothers, and _why I was here._

Balance, that was the nature of magic.

_What balances my presence in this world?_

There.

That’s the question I need the answer to.

_What was taken so that I was given to the Weasley family?_

(Because there’s nothing but magic, that could’ve taken me from my death in a very non-magic world to this one, where I shouldn’t exist.)

Finding that answer was the object of my obsession for a month, with me simply trying to See something — extremely unsuccessful, especially that one time when my magic flared up, the fucking ornery purple shit, and scorched a quarter of the orchard — until finally Dad pulled me aside before an Occlumency lesson. He was, after all, the one I bounced most of my ideas and visions off of; I’d say he was the closest member of my family, especially since my age-mentality was so much closer to his than to anyone’s (especially Ginny’s, which she was quite put off about, us being twins and all that.)

“Is this about balance?” he asked me seriously, “You don’t need to clam up, little queen. We may not have much money, but we can afford to buy some books on Magical Theory, or Core Theory, or whatever you need.”

A stab of guilt.

_Dammit, I’m worrying them, aren’t I?_

I shook my head. “No, it’s… well, okay, it’s about balance. Kinda. But I… I want to research this on my own, Dad. I- Diagon Alley, I want to go to Diagon Alley to find what I need. It’s… It feels like something I have to do.”

Dad looked at me closely. “Lyssie, you’re only _five._ You don’t need all the answers right now.”

Wrong on both accounts. I was not, in fact, only five; even counting out my past life, one might argue that the Clairvoyance, the amount of time I lived vicariously through visions, gave me more experience. And yes, I did need the answers now. I needed to know what the FUCK was wrong with this alternate-universe shit, and how I could fucking _fix it_ because instinct and Murphy’s law was telling me that the increased severity of the war? _My brothers dying?_ Yeah, that was my fault somehow. And my responsibility, because I was NOT going to let _a single. Brother. Die._ (If I had my way, they wouldn’t even be hurt. But I wasn’t _that_ idealistic.)

“Dad, I need to know. There’s… There’s something wrong with the future.” I whispered the last part, shuddering at the images of empty blue eyes and red hair darkened with blood, “And I bet I could change it. But I need to know more.”

My father gave me a steady look. I stared right back, not letting my gaze waver; I loved my father, he was my absolute favorite person in this world, not that I’d be telling Ginny that, but I would fight him on this.

Then he sighed, running his fingers through his hair. He gave a weak smile. “You’re going to run me ragged, aren’t you?”

My lips twitched. “Were you expecting anything different when you had a daughter?”

(Good thing they were all so used to my speech patterns. Five-year-olds didn’t talk like that…)

“Maybe a little, luv.” he chuckled softly. Then he stood, nodding to himself. “Alright, Diagon Alley it is. Flourish and Blotts, I suppose?”

I nodded.

Again, another sigh. “Alright. But I’ll have someone _of age_ escort you, alright? And they’ll keep an eye on you, make sure you don’t wander.”

_Hand holding hand — small and weak and the other large and calloused — the little girl with dark crimson hair — the crowded, crooked bookshop and darted towards the historical section immediately. Hours. Hours. Hours and hours of poring over books — watched like a hawk, skimming his own book._

_Again. Hours — hours — the bookshop — crowded and hot — robes of many colors blurring the background like globs of Impressionist paint._

_Again. She didn’t look up from her books, only ducking her small head in one after another. They grew in number — the stack beside her — towering over her — threatening to fall._

_Again._

_Again._

_And finally the escort — tall and gangly and bored — left her alone. He walked out to the Quidditch shop — it would be the same. As he left, her eyes — icy blue — flickered up, and behind the leathery pages she pulled off a devious smirk. It would not be the same._

_(_ **_Stop._ ** _)_

I nodded, and then I grinned to myself as Dad went to make arrangements. I felt a little bad, giving them this much trouble, but my vision showed me that I needed to _not_ have an escort. Which meant that there was something I needed to leave Flourish and Blotts for. If it was another Diagon shop, I’d probably just drag them there… But since I was sneaking away, that meant…

_Knockturn Alley?_

Looks like I was going to need to practice wandless magic. If only to run away, of course. Half of those books I was reading, they were probably things to prepare me for my little escapades into the Dark, where the true answers lay.

“Wandless magic it is, then.” I muttered to myself, heading out to the orchard to see if I couldn’t manage a Notice-Me-Not.

_God, this is going to take forever._

 

**…**

 

As it turns out, my meditation and exploration of that indigo crap I assume is my magical core gave me a disposition towards wandless magic. Or maybe Guinevere Weasley was just a goddamn freak of nature that honestly would probably be dead or insane if there weren’t a mind of an adult in her head. 

Because, seriously. Wandless magic was fucking exhausting, but it was _fun as fuck._ And I was fucking _good_ at it.

My fingers, tiny as they were, twitched. The collection of leaves and flowers I’d been levitating around shifted with my movement. I had a headache building up; my indigo magic was spread over the whole little clearing, trembling and humming happily. As if it were happy to be used, which if Dad said right, it might be; semi-sentience, and all that. 

The little threads of electric blue-purple were weaving lightly through the things I was controlling, and I watched in (pained) amazement as my magic bent to my will clumsily, as long as I inserted enough resolve into the mental image of what I wanted to happen.

“Come on, come on,” I muttered to my indigo colors.

It rippled in response. I felt like I’d run a marathon all of a sudden, but the leaves and bits of grass and flowers and all manner of meadow debris began to dance around me, bobbing softly to the rhythm of my magic.

My grin must’ve been vicious with how fucking _smug_ I felt.

“I’m a _fucking genius._ ” I cackled, ignoring how tired I was.

It might’ve been a combination of Seer-magic (which was already very powerful shit), my adult mind, the intensive Occlumency, how much I meditated, and my overall interest in magic — _No shit I’m interested, magic didn’t exist in my last life! —_ but I was just getting better at being able to prod my magic into doing stuff. I knew basic spells, of course, but when I tested if I could set shit on fire by just demanding it to burn instead of chanting _Incendio_ internally, it worked. So I decided to start with learning how to get my magic to do what my imagination cooked up, and I’d practice spells and incantations later.

Months passed.

October was just a lot of that, me fucking around with magic (and cackling). My request for private Diagon Alley trips would be granted during the winter hols, so that Bill or Charlie could take me instead; Dad was just too busy with work, Mum too busy with the rest of my siblings. I didn’t mind. I found a new project to sink my time into.

It started getting cold in November — enough that I really didn’t want to go outside to practice my growing magical control anymore — so I began to learn how to do smaller things. Color-changing. Shrinking and enlargement. The silent, wordless equivalents of _Scourgify_ and _Spongify._ And, really, I shouldn’t have been surprised when one of my siblings happened to walk in on my practice.

My indigo magic was flickering around Ginny’s stuffed rabbit. I was playing with its colors, having been bored to death because Ginny and Ron were napping, Percy was reading in his room, and the twins were being scolded by Mum. I’d finished my required half-hour of meditation — funny, ‘cos the more control I had over my indigo magic, the more it grew; and the more it grew, the more the Clairvoyance began to kick my ass — for the day, so Mr. Giffy was a good target for my boredom.

He was sporting a very fetching maroon color, and I began to brighten it into Mum’s magic’s candy-red when the door slammed open and someone gasped.

I whipped around guiltily, and was inordinately relieved it wasn’t the twins. (They would’ve pestered me to teach them or something, they _loved_ filching wands and experimenting with them however they pleased.) Standing there, surprisingly, was Percy.

We blinked at each other.

“Don’t tell the demon twins.” I said quickly.

(My British accent was coming along, by the way — five years in a foreign country will do that to you. I just… had to be careful not to start ranting, ‘cos that’s when it would disappear and I’d give away my American-raised mind.)

“You’re controlling your accidental magic,” said my brother in awe.

“Erm. It’s not accidental like that anymore, is it?”

Percy’s blue eyes were wide. “Lyssie, how _long_ have you been able to _do_ that?”

I shrugged, waving a hand and returning Mr. Giffy to his cream-brown color. “I started practicing in October.” _It’s not that hard_ , is what I would’ve added if I didn’t think Percy might get annoyed with me for that.

My brother shut the door quickly, trotting to my side and sitting down eagerly, vibrating in excitement. He was trying not to smile; Percy always liked to look smart and serious. “What else can you do?” he asked, trying to mask his enthusiasm.

Grinning, I made grabby motions towards the little squat bookshelf in the corner. Bill’s old first-year books zoomed towards me, my indigo tendrils wrapping around them and sinking inside; the books glinted purple as they came close, slowing and opening gently, landing on my lap. The others piled up next to me, in a neat stack. It had taken me a few days of constant practice and muttered profanities to get the damn books to not smack into my fucking face, but I’d done it.

I flashed a proud look at Percy. “It took me forever to get that!”

Percy looked at me in amusement. “You _would_ learn how to fetch books wandlessly first.”

“I prob’ly got it from you,” I reasoned. He _was_ the bibliophile of the family, after all. He didn’t have to know that I’d been one _before_ I’d died, so it wasn’t, in fact, his influence that had me more interested in books than anything else.

Ah, but then again, I hated flying — heights made me nauseous — and I couldn’t run around much, so, there was that.

Truthfully, though, I was very invested in the idea of being able to wandlessly summon my wand — or any wand — back to my hands if I were disarmed in a fight. Moving objects was pretty easy for me now, though there was a certain limit to their mass that I had to train up and work around. I’d started with little things like leaves, and now I was getting books to fly to me. _Accio_ was going to be a breeze at this point.

“Does Dad know?” he asked diplomatically.

“Nope. Just you.”

He looked faintly flattered. “You should tell Dad. It might be a Seer thing, wandless magic.”

I nodded. “Dad said that Seer-witches are magically powerful and physically weak. I’m very physically weak-" I had asthma again, _goddammit._ “-so I’m very magically strong, see?”

Percy frowned a little. “That’s dangerous, isn’t it?”

“That I’m magically strong?”

“‘Cos of the dizzy spells. Your magic attacks your insides, that’s why you were coughing blood last time.”

Another nod. “Yep.”

Seer-magic was finicky, after all. It was a delicate see-saw of my control vs. the magic’s semi-sentience. I was hurt if I resisted the visions, and I was hurt if I tried to See too much; like, as Percy remembers, when I desperately kept myself within the hold of the Clairvoyance trying to See more about George’s supposed demise in this new shittily-fated world. I didn’t managed to see much beyond his severed ear-hole bleeding profusely and it apparently _blackening_ (Did that happen in the books? I couldn’t goddamn remember but I had a bad feeling…) before the Clairvoyant magic started to attack my physical body. Then I was coughing blood and vomiting for a few hours afterwards, with my family panicking all around me. 

It was a goddamn mess, this magic business.

(I loved it so much.)

My brother was giving me a very concerned look, eyes flicking between my face and the books I’d just summoned and levitated wandlessly.

“Don’t worry, Perce,” I soothed, “I know what it feels like when I push myself-” _Like my insides are bursting and being crushed at the same time._ “-and this isn’t even close, yeah? My magical core’s getting stretched lots ‘cos of the Occlumency and meditation! And practice.”

Percy scrutinized me closely, eyes squinted.

“Don’t tell anyone, please? I’ll tell Dad myself. I’ll tell him when he gets home.”

“It might be dangerous, though, Lyssie.”

“It’s really not! My core is big enough to handle a lot more than just fetching books and changing colors, Percy.”

“What else can you do?”

I grinned. “I can set things on fire. Make things move. And some of Mum’s household charms from her book. I’m still working on the Stasis Charm, though. I’m better at making things fly about or burst into flames, though.”

There was a flash of panic in his eyes. “What have you set on fire?”

“What? _Leaves!_ God- er, _Merlin!_ I’m not going to set anything in _our house_ on fire!”

He sighed. “Good. Lyssie, really, we live with the _demon twins._ I think I’ve got a right to worry. And no, I won’t be telling anyone — least of all them — about your wandless magic. But you really ought to tell Dad. He’ll know what to do.”

“I already know what to do,” I grumbled a little, “I ought to be in Diagon Alley, researching. But I can’t right now, so I’ll at least have some fun first.”

Percy snorted a little, reaching over to ruffle my hair. Ginny kept her carrot-orange strands long and straight, but my hair took a bit more after my first life: dark, thick, and filled with waves. As such, I liked to chop it short, almost boyish.

Then my brother hesitated a little. “Lyssie?”

“Hm?”

“Would you… er… Do you think that I…?”

I blinked up at my older brother. He looked fidgety and shy. I smiled at him. “You want me to help you do magic?”

He nodded shallowly.

I laughed. “Okay! That’d be nice, too, you have a lovely core. It’s a very nice sky blue.”

Percy brightened. “Really?”

“Mm-hm. Erm… oh, here! Look.”

Holding my hands out in front of me, I cupped my fingers and squinted a little. It took much less effort than the first time I tried to become some sort of magical firebender, but I still needed to concentrate. Sure enough, my indigo concentrated — it felt like it was solidifying, but I knew that Percy couldn’t See what I could — and sparks of the incandescent threads sprouted. It was like compressing my color into one space, and instead of the oxygen exploding, a flame shimmered into existence; dancing above my cupped palms, hot but not painful.

It was a regular flicker of yellow flame, but I pushed my magic, poking at it, and the candlelight shuddered and grew. A little fireball sat in the air above my fingers, and I grinned at a gaping Percy as I made its color flicker. Then it was sky blue, the innermost flame nearly white and the edges a darkening navy, and plum blobs of color rippled through the flames every now and then, representing the threads of Percy’s magic. Percy’s mouth was open as he stared at it.

“I can’t really do the colors right,” I murmured, not really wanting to break the awed silence, “but this is as close as I can get it.”

“This is mine?” He sounded like he didn’t believe it.

“Yeah. This is yours.”

Percy smiled, and it was the happiest smile I’d ever seen from him. “What do _your_ colors look like?”

I laughed, then-

“Ow.”

Percy straightened in an instant, eyes bleeding of warmth and sharpening. “Lys?”

“My head…” I whined a little. There was a stab of pain, then another; then it was just a dull throbbing, like I’d left my hair tied too tightly for several hours — back in my last life when I _had_ longer hair — and then tried to read for several hours more after that.

The Percy-colored flames winked out of existence, and I winced again, squeezing my eyes shut.

_A clear, babbling brook — grows into a river aways from the house, part of it trickled off to feed the Burrow’s pond — larger part deepened and widened and grew with thin ice in November. The twins were irritated after the scolding — identical faces set into frowns._

_They ran off, even though it was so cold. Ron woke up and saw them and followed, worried a little — little maroon-colored scarf around his red-cheeked face — the sun was just setting and the sky looked like it was on fire even though it was so cold._

_“Go away, Ronniekins!” — “You’re not supposed to go this far!” — “We’re older, Ron.”_

_He followed, still — three blobs against the hibernating brush — streaks of red smothered in wooly coats and hats and scarves — the twins just wanted to get away from their little brother, who was bored with how Ginny was sleeping — little girl curled up in blankets, tired out because her own little sister played earlier with her — lonely child sandwiched in between two sets of twins, no playmate/partner to call his own, Ron just wanted to be included — the twins took his following as a challenge — the brook widened and then it was suddenly a river, with three children walking alongside it in the autumn chill._

_Blurs — distorted colors — screaming — “RON NO!” — underwater, pale hands in front of him — surface is so far — gurgling._

_“GO GET MUM!”_

_Drowning drowning drowning? — water surges upwards blurry and distorted and colors all over the place — indigo everywhere, straining, writhing like a thousand worms — blurs — drowning? — Ron with a hard, gangly face looking at the water uncertainly._

_“I’m afraid of water,” he admitted quietly — green murk in the black lake._

_Fred and George screamed as the fiery-red hair soaked almost black and sunk sunk sunk sunk sunk — “NO, NO, RON, NO!” — drowned brother, white body laid out in soaking wool, eyes closed and belly full of just too much river water — CRACK CRACK CRACK! went the ice — blurry vision — a crying woman in the kitchen, the twins huddled up in their room silently._

_(_ **_Stop._ ** _)_

My eyes opened, and it was instinctive. My magic didn’t even fight me as I forced it to pulse outwards, combing through the entire house, through every nook and cranny. The indigo swept over the sky blue of a worrying, panicking Percy; then the candy-red of Mum, downstairs, humming in the kitchen; then the slow-beating pulse of Ginny’s gold-flecked maroon up in Ron/Bill’s room; then the sickly yellow murk of Scabbergrew in Percy’s room ( _I really have to think about what I’m going to do with him…)_ ; then little dots of mint-greens and pale yellows in the garden, the gnomes I think; and the dark, sluggish colors of the ghoul in the attic.

No twins. No Ron.

And the window showed me a sky that looked like it was on fire.

There was no time.

“-ys? Lys? Lyssie? Lyssie, are you alright?”

_OUT OF THE WAY!_

My indigo gently pushed Percy away; he landed in a heap on my nest of a bed, looking ruffled and afraid and shocked. The door to my and Ginny’s bedroom was attacked by the electric purple-blue threads, streaking across the air like lightning, and the wood was knocked off its hinges as I barreled through. I tumbled down stairs, trusting my magic to catch me and land me on my feet lightly. My hand flew out and my purple, wooly sweater was in my hands and over my head as I nearly broke the back door down.

_Faster! There’s no time! I NEED TO RUN FASTER!_

My lungs heaved, and there was the smell of ozone as my indigo magic flailed wildly with my emotions. 

Ron, _drowning?_ He’s only _six_ , why is he going to die? Why is he going to drown? And why did I see that he might not? Was it because I could save him? I didn’t want him to die, he was my big brother, he was protective and lonely and he loved Quidditch and his colors were so, so bright. He couldn’t die! He was Harry Potter’s best friend, he was Hermione Granger’s husband, he was a hero of the war, he was a victim of the Death Eaters — which is still better than _dying_ I suppose — my brother cannot, WILL NOT die! It’s so cold, he might get ill even if he doesn’t drown, but the child in my vision was just so _still_ , so _pale_ , I wanted to be _sick…_

There was no _time._

_He stepped on a safe-looking section, trying to get to the two figures faster — they were laughing, feeling much better after an impromptu game of tag with their littlest little brother — the ice groaned — CRACK CRACK CRACK! — “RON, NO!”_

_(_ **_Stop._ ** _)_

NO! I would NOT allow this to happen! NEVER!

FUCK, what is with this future? _I Saw that Ron would live up to at LEAST seventeen, he was being tortured, he is NOT going to drown today, what is going on, will I be fast enough I HAVE TO BE FAST ENOUGH No, no, no, please don’t take him away he’s too important, what if I don’t make it? I have to make it, RON NO!_

My lungs were burning, I could barely suck air into them; my magic swirled around me, inside me, trying to keep my body from falling apart after sprinting the better part of a mile down the river. I know they were here, where were they, my brothers-

“WHAT-"

“NO! RON, NO!”

“GEORGE, GO GET MUM! HE’S DROWNING!”

“RON! RON!”

“GO GET MUM!”

My brother was drowning _right now_ and there was _no time._

My indigo magic reared up, building up like a storm, as I ripped through dormant bushes — ignoring the cuts and snags of the branches on clothing and skin — and stumbled at the riverbank. George nearly slammed into me, Fred was wading into the water, and there was a struggling blur in the middle of the dark river. A pale hand shot up, flailed, and sunk again.

The sight made me burn.

_You **will not** take my brother._

My magic’s song was deep and snarling now, loud and buzzing in my eyes.

 

**…**

 

I’d been changing Mr. Giffy’s colors, and then I summoned those books, and then I made flames and changed their colors to Percy’s. My magic wasn’t even half-spent, but it was obviously used up for the day.

So I didn’t question the splintering feeling in my chest, the way pain shot through my core, up my heart down my ribcage, down my spine, ripping through my gut carelessly, just to return and travel upwards again. My skin was tingling, then there was a buzzing feeling, and then I could only hear the roar of my magic. Indigo leaked out of me, curling around me and making my hair stand on end.

_Save him._ I demanded, feeling a _push_ in my core and watching as the indigo burst out and split into a thousand spider-silk strings, like lightning shattering, all of it surging towards the _something_ in the water.

Electricity ran up and down my bones, _power_ forcing my lungs to contract and my breath to empty; my eyes widened, strength rushing through me, down my stomach, to my legs, to my toes, back up to my knees, to my heart, to my arms, through my fingers, up my neck, in my head… It was painful, it was _intoxicating._ It felt like I was wringing my very organs of every drop of magic their cells contained, like I was ripping it out of my system with my own two hands — stupid, but necessary, and very very very exhilarating.

_I will not fail._ something whispered in my head; it might’ve been me.

Then.

The river _lifted._

My indigo _sunk_ into the water, droplets splattering out from the stream at the dark thread’s command — the water lifted, a puppet on my strings, swirling upwards and around the _something_ in the water. Sheets of water wrapped around the something protectively, like it was curling up in defense, shielding the _something_ in the water. There was buzzing in my ears, strings thinning between me and the orb of water; I snarled, pushing more into them; the puppet-strings thickened, curling around each other, the water rose at my command.

_Closer. Safety._ beckoned something in my head, and the water obeyed.

The magic was buzzing on my skin. The threads of indigo were unraveling and raveling constantly, like it didn’t know what it wanted to do; or, rather, it was trying to do what I wanted it to, but had a hard time focusing. The threads kept twisting outwards, leaving the fold, evaporating into the air — wasted. I’d never done something like this, and unpracticed magic meant this messy, useless display of untrained, undisciplined… It made me angry, and I used that anger to fuel the magic, to force it to keep going. The threads strained, but I had to save Ron.

(There was no time.)

(I wasn’t thinking.)

(I was panicking.)

Something warm leaked down my lips. Blood, probably. I was wringing my organs dry, after all, and damn the consequences. Ron would not die. He would probably have a phobia of water forever, but he _would not die._ And he’d never fucking be tortured, either, because if all I had to do was bleed internally to make sure of it, I would.

The water was like a marble, really. A marble constantly reforming itself, sheets and layers splashing up to keep the flow. The inside was hollow, though; I made sure of that. And whatever water was swallowed by the _something_ inside, the thing to be protected, was coming out and joining the defense. It languidly floated, small but larger than I was, until it was resting on the bank of the river.

_SNAP!_

_A gasp, and it was like the first time tasting air again — the November air was chilling and he was turning blue but his chest rose and fell and rose and fell and he was_ alive _— the twins were crying but they covered their eyes — blood on small, pale lips that were smiling in utter relief —_ IT HURTS — _four to a boat and Ron’s hands were pale as they clutched the sides, his new green-eyed friend giving him a funny look._

_“Are you alright?” — “I’m afraid of water,” he admitted quietly — worried — blurred — pale knuckles and fingers digging into the sides of the boat like steel._

_“Oh. Are you going to be sick?” — Ron snorted a little, he wished he were only seasick._

_“Not that kind of afraid, mate. Don’t worry about it.” — “We won’t be on these bloody boats for long, I reckon.” — Thank Merlin,thank god, no more water._

_(_ ** _Stop._** _)_

I gasped, and it felt like it was I’d tasted air for the first time again.

The water collapsed, my indigo fizzling out into nothingness. As my magic was spent, warmth spurted up my throat; I gagged, and the world spun as my hand covered my mouth. When it came back from my lips it was just red, bright against the cold pale of my hands. Someone was saying something but I couldn’t understand, it felt like I was ten feet underwater and they were trying to tell me something, standing on the surface and waving down at me.

The water collapsed, and then so did I.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m quite pleased that people seem to like this. Thank you very much for the kind comments. So, here’s chapter 4… Have fun! Oh, and head’s up: SHIT TON of world-building. I love my world-building.

 

**…**

 

_Golden light was streaming through clouds. Fields patterned with stripes of green and brown and wheat-gold, it was warm and the wind was gentle through the eaves — hands running along the crop with appraising pride, hands that were calloused with hard work and many years of experience. He smiled at his fields, a few teeth missing as he chewed on tobacco._

_(_ **_Stop._ ** _)_

_It was deep, deep blue — a darkness that barely saw light — stillness in the cold deep — silvery winks of fish, their scales catching — wake up — the soft glow from the sun above, rays barely drifting down to this empty peace — in a patterned, abstract formation, gliding through the water like a silver cloud._

_(_ **_Stop._ ** _)_

_Hands traced the wood gently, hesitantly. He set his tools to the smooth panel that had once been a tree growing tall and flowering strong, thick and sturdy, roots spread wide —_ Ah, that’d be ironic, _he thought to himself as he carved out wooden flowers. The tree was dead, there were no more flowers for it but these — over and over, flowers blooming from dead wood once again, over and over — wake up, lys — crisscrossing pattern — smooth, dead petals, painted white with practiced, only slight-trembling fingers._

_The creatures crept over the dead leaves, nose to the ground — the tracks were leading this way, the smell the other — fake tracks — trusting its senses — a sort of cat? a lynx? dark spots on grey, fluffy fur — wake up — the prey was hiding there, it was trying to trick its predator — wake up, lys, please_

_wake up_

_(_ **_Stop._ ** _)_

_The man was plucking flowers from the ground with precision — his hands were pale and his cloak was black — wake up, lys — The ones that had three-curled leaves were bad. He needed the rarer five-curled ones — fern-green, fuzzy with fiber, curling to protect its stem from the world, the world that wanted its flowers so badly — he needed these herbs, they would heal his village his people, he was practiced in its remedies, yes._

_Wake up, lys, wake up — simmering in the cauldron, bubbling a clear bluish — those flowers with the five-curled leaves, as the three-curled were poison — ingested, the victim would spasm and froth from the mouth and suffer, depending on how many they managed to eat before the bitter taste set in — one, two three — seven stirs — don’t forget to lower the heat or it will become purple — keep it a turquoise — wake up, dear…_

_wake up_

_wake_

_up_

_(_ **_Stop._ ** _)_

My eyes blinked open suddenly. Wooden beams on the high-ish ceiling. Light from the window. A soft sort of scent. This was my room wasn’t it? But it was different, somehow. What was different about it? And why was I here? With all the blood and magic I’d somehow expended, I’d have thought that I’d be waking up in St. Mungos.

It was different. Why? What was different?

_Where is my indigo._

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck. Did I use too much? Was I a Squib now or something? Where the FUCK was my magic? There was no haze of my colors drifting around me, curling around my skin like some sort of protective, foggy cloud. It was always there, and if I willed it, I could force it into the corners of my eyes; but now it was completely fucking GONE.

_Shit. Shit, no, please, my magic, not that-_

“Don’t worry, Miss Weasley. I have simply been casting a Soothsayer Soothing spell on your behalf; you still have your magic. You can feel it, can’t you?”

Immediately my eyes shut again and I was searching for my colors. There was total blackness all around me, nothingness, and then there were swirls of my familiar indigo, deep and dark and lovely, folding all into itself like velvet. I smiled at the sight of it, and I could finally feel its indiscernible rhythm underneath my skin. It was huge, much bigger than the last time I’d meditated, and the threads of color were paler; almost white, glowing silver, wrapping me in comfort. _I’m here,_ it seemed to be telling me, _I’m here, I’m yours, I’m here, I’m here._

I sighed in relief.

Blinking my eyes open, I looked to who was sitting at my bedside. _The fuck._

Albus Dumbledore was sitting at my bedside.

The strongest wizard in the Western Hemisphere was sitting at my bedside.

The Headmaster of Hogwarts was sitting in my room.

That was Albus Dumbledore.

_THE FUCK??_

“Oh.” I said intelligently. (I wanted to smack myself.)

 

**…**

 

He didn’t look like his movie-counterpart exactly. He was thin and elderly, his beard and hair nearly white, neatly tied from the rest of his face. His eyes were a stunning ice-blue — and yes, they did _actually fucking_ ** _twinkle_** — behind half-moon glasses perched on the edge of his crooked nose. The robes he was wearing were eye-watering to say the least; bright, garish purple with golden stars that periodically twirled around a little, neon green trim. It made me kinda sick to look at him, honestly, because not only could he probably snap me in half like I was a twig, my eyes were on fire.

The strongest wizard in the Western Hemisphere smiled congenially at me.

“Hello, Miss Weasley. I am Albus Dumbledore,” he said simply, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

I could only nod politely. “The pleasure’s all mine.”

His smile widened. “The spell’s incantation is _Dī-konden An-drixtā,_ called simply ‘the Soothsayer Soothing spell’ for lack of better translation. It is an old Proto-Celtic spell. In fact, it was once a ritual, bastardized by wand-users because staff-users began to die out when Rome invaded the home of the Druids. Normally, only the caster is affected, but I myself have dabbled lightly in Spell Crafting; in that case, the incantation is _Dāno Dī-konden An-drixtā_ , followed by the name of whom you wish to sooth.”

I nodded, taking in this information eagerly. “ _Dāno Dī-konden An-drixtā Albus Dumbledore.”_ I muttered distractedly, raising my hand up a little. I couldn’t _See_ the indigo doing my will, but I felt a fierce tug under my heart and winced as it twinged. I frowned a little at myself; it didn’t _feel_ like it worked at all, though I still felt pain.

(Weird. Pain? Was it an after-effect of my saving Ron?)

(But I still had my magic, and that’s the important thing.)

The Hogwarts Headmaster hummed happily. “An excellent first try, Miss Weasley. It _is_ easier with a wand, of course, despite your skill in wandless casting. You’ll find, however, that your magic will be a little… tender, shall we say? You expended more than what is healthy for a child of your age during your admirable rescue of Mr. Ronald Weasley.”

“Is he okay?”

He chuckled a little. “Yes, your brother is in perfect physical health.”

I twitched. “Mentally?”

Dumbledore grew a bit grave. “I’m afraid Mr. Weasley has developed something of a phobia of water. Completely understandable, though I was informed that it was a bit of an issue hygiene-wise for a few short days.”

“I’ve been asleep for days?”

“Two weeks, to be exact. You were admitted to St. Mungos, where they examined your magical core and the internal bleeding your overuse caused. Their treatment settled on keeping you in a magically-induced coma to heal, and your family was given permission to take you home for the duration,” explained the elderly wizard patiently, “During this time, your father contacted me and told me a fantastical story of how his youngest daughter is apparently a powerful Soothsayer — not that he was aware of that aspect of your nature — and an even more powerful Clairvoyant.”

I blinked a little. So they put me in a coma so that my core could heal better, and they let Mum and Dad take me home to sleep. Which is why I woke up in my and Ginny’s room, minus a certain Ginny. Then Dad probably panicked, not that I blame him with how I nearly killed myself trying to save Ronniekins, and called the strongest, Lightest wizard he knew.

“Dad didn’t call you here just so that I could learn the Soothsayer Soothing spell.” I said, narrowing my eyes.

“Quite right, my dear,” replied the Headmaster, “Arthur initially called me here to answer your questions, actually.”

“My questions? Sir?”

“Hm. Perhaps not a question you have actively been asking, but it is something you have thought about, I’m sure. You were not aware that your ability to see the bleeding of magical cores of others was an aspect of Soothsaying.”

“Wait.” I interrupted, inwardly cringing a little at my rudeness but not caring all too much at the moment, “Not only am I a Seer-Clairvoyant — the _most powerful_ branch of Seer — I’m _also_ a Seer-Soothsayer? I’m a Seer _twice?_ Is that why I’m so… so _weak??_ Er… Sir.”

Dumbledore nodded, looking quite cheerful despite my incredulously rude tone. “Well, technically, yes and no. The ICW no longer recognizes Soothsayers as Seers, which is unfortunate. Soothsayers are quite interesting. Their abilities are very similar to the Muggle illness synesthesia. Do you know what that is?”

I did, but I shook my head. A five-year-old shouldn’t know what that is.

“It’s a unique illness of the mind that rises occasionally in Muggles,” Dumbledore went on, looking very happy to explain this to me for some reason, “Afflicted Muggles can sense things differently through it, you see. You and I listen to music, we hear the different high and low notes, yes? Muggles with synesthesia can _see_ the music, or _smell_ it; low notes would be green or sweet-smelling, high notes purple or fresh-smelling. It’s not always like that, of course, every mind is different… But Soothsayers do much the same with magic.

“I met one, once, who could _taste_ magic. She told me that my magic tasted like apples and raindrops, you see. She always knew when I’d performed magic, because it tasted so unique to her. Another I knew, long ago, could smell it; I was apparently quite summer-like, with a bit of rain. Of course, taste and smell are so interrelated, they nearly sensed magic the same way, though they were two completely different people.”

I blinked at him, tilting my head to one side.

“Sir? Er… Why are Soothsayers no longer called Seers?” I asked.

The strongest wizard on this side of the world smiled. “Ah, you see, Seers are born — bloodlines are very important to them because of that. Why, my Divination Professor at Hogwarts is quite proud of her ancestry! Cassandra Trelawney, you see, was one of the strongest Prophesiers in Western history… Ah, but I grow ahead of myself.

“Soothsayers are, of course, born; but they can also be made. I myself am not a born-Soothsayer, but as long as I have lived and as powerful as I have apparently become, I developed the ability. It happens, sometimes, you see, Miss Weasley, in the oldest of us. The Soothsayers I mentioned before, in fact, show this; Miss Fawley, who has passed now, was a born-in, while the other… well, he acquired power through whatever means he could, and to be able to sense magic… That is an advantageous talent.

“One you have inherited, I see. Your maternal grandmother, Genevieve Prewett, was a born-in Soothsayer. She had her ability sealed permanently, I believe; her sensitivity to magic was bothersome in her profession, Healing. But during her years at Hogwarts, her Soothsaying — Mage Sight, it’s called sometimes — was of touch and hearing, and it is quite rare to possess two senses of Mage Sight. I myself only possess hearing. She did not pass the ability to any of her three children, your mother included, but I see it has made its way to you.”

I took in this information like a sponge. I _did_ like learning about magic; it was just so much more interesting than mundane subjects. (I was probably biased, though.) And this didn’t feel canon, or if it was, it was never mentioned. Why was I thrown into such a different HP universe?

Dumbledore chuckled. “You seem confused, Miss Weasley.”

I shook my head. “No, I’m fine. I… There are different types of Seers, sir?”

Dumbledore nodded, smiling now. I suppose he would always be a teacher at heart, and this was a rare chance to lecture.

“All Seers are divided into Sovereign and Acquiescent. You, Miss Weasley, are no doubt Acquiescent. Meaning, you cannot control your ability, when and how and what about the visions come. No Seer, in fact, is ever completely Sovereign, which is the opposite. But some can come close.

“There are the Prophesiers, who see only the future — Destiny, most scholars agree — and are mostly of the Acquiescent variety. There are the Assessors, who look at people and creatures and can understand them and their intentions, who are a mostly Sovereign division. Cognizants are largely Sovereign, and they can see the history and pasts of the people and things they touch. Empaths are emotion readers, both Sovereign and Acquiescent, depending on the bloodline, though they also have the added benefit of understanding all intentions surrounding the specific emotions they sense in a person. And of course, the rarest and most powerful, the Clairvoyants, who see past, present, and future — and, scholars argue they see Fate, rather than Destiny — and can be either Sovereign or Acquiescent, depending on the person.”

I thought hard; that definitely wasn’t canon, all the divisions of Seers. But it was cool and shit, though. I frowned, though, running his lecture through my head again.

“What is the difference between Fate and Destiny?”

Dumbledore brightened; I didn’t know if it was because of my curiosity and willingness to learn, or because he got to teach more.

“Terms for the future, my dear; not completely accurate, but it is what all the greatest minds have agreed on. Fate: the flow of time, the reactions of events occurring to the reactions of events, over and over. Fate can be changed, you see. Destiny, however… Destiny cannot. Destiny is what is and what will be; what will happen regardless of the little complexities in Fate.

“Prophesiers, much like my own dear Professor Trelawney, are very rare, and can only Prophesy when Destiny reveals itself to them. Their Prophecies cannot be changed, or avoided. On the reverse, Clairvoyants — even rarer than Prophesiers, and much less well-known — See bits of the past and present constantly, and when certain choices are made, see the effect those choices have on the future as well. The difference, of course being…”

“A Clairvoyant can change what they See.” I said softly.

Dumbledore nodded. “Yes. Though… Well, the repercussions are quite…”

“Painful?”

“Disastrous,” said Dumbledore, nodding. “You have been subject to this, I believe, Miss Weasley. Ostensibly, the reason you were injured so badly during your rescue of your brother was due to several contributing factors: your physical fragility, an asthma attack, your depleted stores of magic, and the unnaturally strong current of the river that day. However, my hypothesis is that your brother was going to drown that day, and his accidental magic could only protect him from either the cold or the water. It chose the cold, and your brother would have died.”

“I was not going to let that happen.” I growled out.

The Headmaster of Hogwarts smiled and nodded approvingly. “No, you did not. But if it was not fated that your brother was to drown that day, you would not have been injured as severely as you were. However, that was Fate; and you interfered. So Fate made sure to punish you accordingly.”

I frowned. “But… Sir, when I looked at my core, it seemed… Well, it seemed even larger than before. So the punishment was the pain I felt, but then I was also rewarded with a larger magical core, then?”

Dumbledore hummed again. “Yes, that is fortunate. Magic is somewhat like a muscle, you’ll find, Miss Weasley. A bit more volatile, I should think. When one expends as much magic as you did, the core can react in one of two ways: destruction, or strengthening. As you are quite alive, we can only assume that your core decided to strengthen itself. In turn, your natural abilities will also increase. It was a gamble, in essence.”

I smirked inwardly; that was a stroke of luck, one that I wouldn’t be repeating — gambling was a big no-no, especially when the odds were as fickle as magic — but it was good. Anything to get stronger was good. 

Still, though… it was strange, that Dumbledore was speaking to me like this; I was physically five, after all. It was appreciated, because I didn’t like being treated like a child even if I’d accepted it, but strange nonetheless.

Dumbledore seemed to read my mind. “I assume, of course, that the fifth-year books underneath your bed are telling of your intelligence.”

“Er… I didn’t know anyone knew about those. Dad thinks I’m on third-year.”

He laughed lightly. “I do encourage, my dear, for you to tell your family that you are as capable as you are.”

I shrugged a little, looking away. “They worry, sir. It… I think it scares them, that I do so much. I always spend time with them, but then I’m always meditating and building my Occlumency skills, and then now I’m almost done with Hogwarts curriculum? They’ll tell me to stop. I can’t stop. I need to learn as much as I can, I need to prove that I’m independent so I can… so I can protect them.”

Dumbledore’s expression saddened. “I was told of the night Arthur discovered your abilities.”

Nodding, I sighed, looking at my hands, resting on my lap. “I dream of them dying all the time.” I looked up at Dumbledore, staring at his eyes. They were not twinkling. “The Dark Lord did not die that night.”

_And I would tell you all his Horcruxes, if I weren’t so unsure about the alternativeness of his universe. That, plus the fact that Fate will probably kick my fucking ass if I tried to change things that much._

“No,” said Dumbledore quietly, “He did not.”

Another sigh. “Okay. Is that why Dad called you, then? Because… I’m powerful and need to control it? To hide it, so he can’t use me?”

Dumbledore nodded. “Arthur tells me that you are making remarkable progress in Occlumency. While I am impressed that he was able to teach himself, it will not be enough for a Clairvoyant of your caliber. He asked me to mentor you through your abilities — including wandless magic, or so young Percival told me privately, which explains your abnormally large magical core.”

“Oh. Er… is it large of the bad sort, then?”

“In a way, Miss Weasley. The size of your core is likely linked with your practice of Occlumency, or so I theorize. The mind magics are meditative practices: Occlumency, defense of the mind, and Legilimency, attack of it. Meditation in Occlumency, however, also serves to heal a magical core after strained use of it-”

“Like building muscle.” I said quickly, recalling his earlier lecture.

“In a way, yes. And with the control you displayed… This is not the first time you have practiced wandless magic, is it?”

I shook my head. There was no use hiding something like this from Dumbledore.

“There we are, then. You have been quickly building up your magical core; on top of its already extreme growth, due to your physical age, your abilities, and the families you come from. Prewett and Weasley are Ancient Houses, quite powerful in their own rights.”

Shit. So I was too magically powerful for my tiny, shitty body to handle. God dammit.

Then I asked the big question:

“What happens now?”

Dumbledore smiled, and it was a nice and grandfatherly. “I would think we should inform your family that you have awoken, first of all-”

“Alright-”

“-and I will offer to train you myself, of course.”

My jaw dropped. I couldn’t help it. _Trained by THE Albus Dumbledore? Holy-_

“I am a proficient Soothsayer, of course, and I will teach you how to perform the spell to block it wandlessly. You have a talent for wandless magic, as we have all seen, so I will endeavor to help with that as well. Your core is quite large for your age, almost dangerously so; you will have to be trained to maintain it, as it will only grow larger from here, otherwise a block might be in order, and those are not extremely pleasant. As for your Clairvoyance-”

“Please don’t make me study under Trelawney.” I muttered.

He chuckled. “Alas, you are not quite the same type of Seer. History has recorded very few Clairvoyants, but as you have studied Occlumency in reaction to it, I believe that training you in the mind arts would be in order.”

I blinked rapidly, trying to school my features. “I- You- But- You’re the most powerful wizard in Europe! I’m just- I’m- I’m _five!”_

Dumbledore laughed, then. “Ah, my dear, but it is precisely because you are so young that you will need guidance. You are powerful, Miss Weasley, and in many ways. Put together, it could be rather dangerous for you. Your Soothsayer abilities will react to a magical block — it will be quite painful for you, because you will be able to sense intimately that your magic is being withheld. Your powerful magic is born from both natural talent, blood, and your constant mediation; but you cannot refrain from mediating, because you are a Clairvoyant and that is what you use to curb the ability from injuring and possessing you.”

“I’m… What a rubbish situation.” I sighed.

(It did not escape my notice that Dumbledore was trying to get me to be dependent on him; confronted with such a powerful, gifted child… He would do his best to ensure I grow underneath his watch, and turned towards the Light rather than the Dark, even if it was improbably with my family being around. If it were, say, _Lucius Malfoy_ who discovered my abilities first, he would do the same thing.)

(This was a rare and important opportunity to become more powerful than the **monster** _— Murderer. Brother-killer,_ something inside me hissed furiously — that would rise once again in less than a decade.)

“Indeed. It is a rare and once-in-a-millennia situation, so we must take precautions.”

I snorted, then. Almost laughing, really. “Mum and Dad are going to faint.”

Dumbledore smiled. “That is why, Miss Weasley, I would like to be present when you inform your parents that I will be mentoring and tutoring you. Molly and Arthur will be quite shocked.”

I fidgeted, though, suddenly nervous. “Are you sure? You’re… Aren’t you the Supreme Mugwump o-or something? And more? You’ll be busy. Shouldn’t you be training the Boy-Who-Lived more than me? If the Dark Lord is going back-”

“Voldemort, my dear. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself.”

“…I would be more willing to call him that if I didn’t dream of the aftereffects of your advice during the War. Taboo, and all. Sir.”

He chuckled. “No need for such formalities, my dear. I offered my help, and as such, we will be spending quite a lot of time together. You may call me Albus, if you’d like — you’re not of Hogwarts age, yet.

“The Taboo was devastating, yes, but there is no such thing now. We cannot live as if we are still subject to Voldemort’s whims. It is not wartime yet; so we must enjoy life and prepare for what is to come, rather than wage war on shadows and dust and exhaust ourselves, while the true battles are waiting for us.”

I hummed thoughtfully. “Okay. I see your point. Voldemort, then.”

Then I stared at him, quirking a brow. He smiled a little.

“I’m afraid I can’t disclose anything on the Boy-Who-Lived, Miss Weasley. If it interests you to know, he is being raised away from the wizarding world, where he will be free of the suffocation fame seems to bring.”

I raised a brow, but decided, ultimately, it was not a decision that I could contest. That, plus: Harry Potter was none of my bloody business right now. He might’ve been a favorite character of mine back in the day, but this Harry Potter was a stranger to me. What would I do to help the famous Boy-Who-Lived, when I could barely even help myself?

I nodded, then. “You can call me Guinevere. Lys is for family-” I had sort of a thing for nicknames; back in my last life, I had a family-only nickname, too. It felt _weird_ when people who weren’t family called me by that name, so I was a little happy that the tradition occurred again in this life. “-but you’re going to be my mentor for a while, right? You can call me Guinevere.”

“Guinevere, then,” he acquiesced pleasantly.

A thought occurred to me.

“You won’t force me to tell you about my visions? Even though it’s such a powerful ability?” _Even though I’d be an asset to the war?_ was unasked and quite conspicuously there.

Dumbledore shook his head. “No, I would not do that, Guinevere. You may not feel it, but you are a child. But more than that, you are a person. As such, outside of the realms of necessary Occlumency exercises, your mind is entirely your own. I would not tear your visions from your mind; as a Clairvoyant, you deal with the magic of Fate and Destiny, and for me to intrude upon that would very well be to sentence you to a painful death.

“No, my dear. I’m afraid that Clairvoyance is a burden entrusted only to its Seers. How you wield your power is your responsibility. I am merely here to guide you safely.”

I knew there was a reason I loved Albus Dumbledore the character.

“Albus?”

“Yes, Guinevere?”

“I think this is the beginning of the beautiful friendship.”

His eyes twinkled as he smiled.

 

**…**

 

Though it’s not really important, I was right: they all thought I was going to keel over and die after the rescuing-Ronniekins incident. Ginny didn’t sleep in her bed for _a month_ , opting to clutch my arm in her sleep. Mum had me in her sights at all times if she could help it, and if not, the twins and Percy would be on me. There was no such thing as not seeing Ron; if I was there, Ron was there, too. Dad spoiled me _rotten,_ and pushed back my Diagon Alley fieldtrip to the summer (“To recover a bit more, little queen,” he said… Ergh.). And the letters from Charlie and Bill, good _Merlin…_

Anyways, not important.

It was time to address something: Peter fucking Pettigrew.

The rat bastard was just sitting innocuously in Percy’s room. Sometimes on his shoulder when Percy was reading somewhere else. I’ve stared at him enough and wondered too much about what I should do about him.

After Albus explained a little about Fate and Destiny to me (we weren’t going to start the tutoring until after the winter hols, just because it was the middle of the semester and he needed to catch up on paper work and frame out a schedule for our tutoring sessions), I thought that maybe I could purposefully trigger my Sight. I’d decide to destroy Pettigrew somehow, and if I got a vision telling me I was gonna die for that, then I’d just _not_ do it.

( _“Clairvoyance isn’t a solve-all, of course, Guinevere,” Albus explained just before he left last time I saw him, “But it is assumed that the Seer-magic wishes to preserve its Seer. If you are going to die, it will likely warn you beforehand.” — “But it didn’t warn me that I’d die if I saved Ron…?” — “You would not have died, my dear. You had many serious injuries, but nothing fatal. And the worst that would have happened, core-wise, would be a little set-back. Especially with how you train your magic so.” — “Oh. Huh. Alright. Thanks, Albus.” — Anytime, my dear.”)_

So, here goes. I needed to know if I could fuck this guy up, because he was probably some sorta closet-pervert. If I didn’t confront this, I was letting my brothers and sister play with a grown man. Sleep with a grown man in their beds. Let a grown man stay in the room while they were _changing_ and such. He was sitting in _Percy’s lap_ right now, as he was reading imperiously to a faintly snoring Ginny and a heavily drooling Ron. (The twins were on either side of me, poking at each other to keep themselves awake.)

_My brother’s lap._ It was that, that irritated me.

_I can sneak out to Diagon._ I thought viciously, staring at the damn creature in my favorite big brother’s LAP. _Buy an identical rat, cut off its finger. Switch them out. Turn in the little perverted shit, since I don’t give a damn about him!_

Percy was my goddamn favorite brother, dammit. I wasn’t going to let this son of a _bitch_ cuddle up to my favorite brother! I loved the rest, of course, and Dad was my absolute favorite Weasley, but Percy was just… He was intelligent and liked reading and discussing literature and magical paraphernalia with me. And he was an overprotective little bastard, too, and he fretted so hilariously because he was trying not to smother me — he knew I didn’t like it, bless him — but wanted to at the same time.

Point is, there was a grown man in my favorite _ten-year-old_ brother’s lap. I was going to kill the little shit.

Then the headache came.

_Brown rat with greying furs — alive for twelve years, wasn’t that strange? they didn’t think so, they didn’t even notice, not with everything they had to do — Percy held the rat close to his chest, slipped the creature into his Hogwarts robes breast pocket — Percy grew taller — broader — like his father — the rat was passed to Ron…_

_Brown rat with greying furs — large, soft hands of an older Ron — lankier and longer, taller, thinned out — girl with bushy brown hair lecturing — boy accidentally grabbing rat when looking for the rounded glasses in the room all red and gold and home. Ron laughed, put the rat on his pillow, small little brown splotch on off-white — the rat was snoozing now, relaxed, curled around the paw missing that one finger._

_Newspaper — Weasleys won the Daily Prophet Draw. There was rat on the front page, sitting on Ron’s shoulder as he grinned at the camera._

_Grim running through the woods and werewolf howling — Forbidden Forest, dark at night and the moon glowing in the starry sky — ran scurrying through the grass, lights flashing — fear fear fear for his life — brown rat with greying furs, held by the girl with ice-blue eyes and dark crimson hair — ice blue eyes were cold and calculating? angry? empty? — something — girl hands the rat to red-cloaks — she smirks — she screams — agony, suddenly — blood splattered like blooming flowers all along the walls, cackling laughter in the background._

_(_ **_Stop._ ** _)_

Goddammit.

Apparently if I interfered with this right now, I would be killed in a manner so spectacular that my death would just be screaming and blood. That… sucked. But made sense. Trelawney would be making her little prediction, after all, in Harry’s third year. Servant of the Dark Lord, chained these thirteen years and all that, I think (my memory was a bit fuzzy). No, I couldn’t interfere with Destiny. Not now, at least. Maybe an opportunity would present itself later, when different choices were made.

So… Favorite or not, Percy would have to put up with Scabbergrew for a while.

( _Sorry, brother…)_

In return, of course, I would be making sure that Percy went to Hogwarts happily.

Maybe not with much dignity, but happily; Percy was, after all, a big softie. He _loved_ being spoiled, he _loved_ being shown affection. He just hid it well, that was all; especially since he understood that with four — with me, five — little siblings, he needed to be more mature about things, he put his craving for such affection away. 

(I could tell, by the way he got a bit wistful-looking whenever Ginny or Ron clung to Mum without fear of judgement, except by the twins, but they didn’t really count now, did they?)

Well. I could fix that. A hug and some sort of way to make sure Percy was happy while he was away, then. The first was almost _depressingly_ easy to accomplish; Percy would be ecstatic at a hug, he and I were often quite deprived of those. The second… Well, I had the continent’s most powerful fucking wizard as my tutor, didn’t I?

“Mum, can I Floo call Albus?”

My mother blinked in surprise. Then she frowned. “You shouldn’t call the Headmaster by his first name, Lyssie,” she scolded, brandishing a wooden ladle at me.

I just grinned. “He said I could! And it’s better than, say, Alby.”

(I’d just like to point out that the man was probably called bonkers because of how fucking _little_ he cared about pride. Which was partly worrying — because self-esteem and why are there no magical therapists? — and partly _fantastic._ We spent all of my last tutoring session turning his office gold and sparkly, where he taught me that wandless magic was _so much easier_ than I thought, I was just using buckets of it where I only needed trickles.

Like Hagrid would say: Great man, Albus Dumbledore.)

(Gold and _sparkly._ Four hours.)

“He’s still very much your elder, Lyssie, and in a few years he’ll be your Headmaster!”

Rolling my eyes, I kept my grin up. “I’ll ask him, Mum. Can I still Floo call him?”

“You can’t write?”

“Oh, I could do that, too, I suppose. But I’d rather ask.”

“Make do with writing for now, won’t you, Lys? The Headmaster’s a busy man, after all. You know where the parchment and quills are, and you can borrow Percy’s inkwell if the one on the desk is low.”

I acquiesced easily. “Okay, Mum.”

As I started upstairs, Ginny and Ron — miraculously waking from their impromptu naps — trailed after me. I grinned at the thought of my own little duckling trail.

“Whatcha doing, Lyssie?” Ginny asked curiously.

“I’m gonna write Headmaster Dumbledore a letter.”

“Dumbledore? Why?” Ron asked, looking bewildered. He may have only been seven, but Ron was quite aware of who my tutor was; it freaked him out a little, I think, but he understood that I needed tutelage partly because I’d had to save him.

Mum and Dad’s room had Dad’s little desk that was only neat because Mum was a saint, and that’s where the parchment and writing shit was. I struggled to climb onto the seat, noticing out of the corner of my eye that Ron and Ginny settled on the edge of our parents’ bed.

I started to write very carefully, then. (Percy had the most beautiful fucking handwriting in the world — it was goddamn calligraphy or some shit, I swear — and try as I might to imitate him, it was still a clumsy attempt at best.)

“I wanna ask him something,” I explained to my littlest older siblings, “There’s something I wanna do with magic, but I don’t know if my wandless will cover it.”

“You’re not supposed to be using wandless for another month!” Ron protested.

“Lyssie…” Ginny muttered suspiciously.

I rolled my eyes again. “That’s why I’m writing Dumbledore, isn’t it? I’m all better anyways.”

They were mostly unconvinced, because my mother was a paranoid woman and her opinion trickled down to them, but I ignored them. I really wanted to start learning from Albus, especially because he said he was open to any questions, as he was less a tutor and more of a mentor for now. Maybe a very favorite distant relative.

* * *

Dear Alby,

Mum says I couldn’t call you Albus, and because I’ve decided that you need more friends that aren’t afraid of you, I’m going to call you Alby instead. We’re friends now, you agreed, so it’s alright, right? Don’t worry — when I get Sorted and all that, I won’t let your reputation go down because of it. I’ll be good and call you Professor or Headmaster, like everyone else.

Anyways, I have a question. Is there some magic I can do to give good luck? 

From what me and Dad have researched I’d assume it’s some sort of ritual, but there’s so many rituals in so many cultures that I wouldn’t know where to start. And I’m actually not sure if rituals are allowed in Britain, since I think they’re mostly Druidic, and most of that was wiped out of the books? 

That potion called Liquid Luck isn’t quite what I’m looking for — I want it to last for a while, and the luck doesn’t have to be that strong. I’d just like to make a somewhat-working lucky charm, that’s all.

Also, we’re not all that well-off in the way of money and those kinds of books are expensive to buy, so if you could give me something from public records, that would be appreciated. I was going to Floo you about it, but Floo powder is a little pricey, and this isn’t really that important.

Thanks, Alby!

 

Respectfully,

Guinevere

* * *

Something to let Percy know, as I send him off to Hogwarts, that I wish him well and that he’s very loved. Something that might even protect him a little, nudge him in the right direction; Percy was just so bloody terrible at socialization, I was a little worried. I had a feeling there had to be _something_ , I could make to help him, and if there was, Albus — Alby? — would know, wouldn’t he?

With that, I folded my letter up and enclosed it neatly; Ginny and Ron watched interestedly, as they always liked to watch our Mum and Dad write and fold up letters. It was the wax seal that amazed them, I think. It was fun to use, especially because we so rarely used it. It had the crest of the Ancient House of Weasley and everything; Alby would get a kick out of it, I felt.

Errol took the letter and an owl treat (and a pet on his head, because I loved this poor owl a lot), and then I had free time on my hands. So back down to the kitchen we went, me and my little duckling trail.

“Lyssie!”

“Dear sister-”

“-why, Lyssie, you left us alone with _Percy_ -”

“-rather rude, don’t you think?”

The twins were suddenly on either side of me, arms thrown around my shoulders. Fred on the left and George on the right. Percy was following, looking irritated, and Ginny and Ron looked put out that I’d sent the letter so all the cool stuff was finished. Mum was chuckling, listening to the radio which was softly playing Celestina Warbeck’s latest love ballad.

I frowned. “Did you cause trouble for Percy?”

They grinned at me mischievously. “Us?” asked George.

“Of course not, dearest sister!” Fred laughed.

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

“I don’t believe you, Fred. And you _know_ why, George.”

The demon twins just grinned at me unrepentantly. I sighed. As much as I loved them and their hilarity, I was trying to curb their relentless attack of Percy. It was mostly because Percy was just my favorite brother, but also because I really didn’t want him to feel isolated enough to turn his back on our family later on down the road. It was just difficult for the demon twins, I think, because they loved playing tricks and experimenting with magic through trial and error, but they were so _limited_ here at home. Only so many people to mess with, really; no wonder Ron and Percy always looked at them suspiciously, since Ginny and I were out of the running.

In essence, they were bored as fuck, and everyone else suffered for it. I frowned a little, then looked at Percy. “They might stop being little prats if we let them in on the secret.”

Percy looked up thoughtfully, his face conflicted.

For the better part of the month, I’d been coaching him through wandless magic training. I’d already mastered the Occlumency that Dad could teach me, and I wasn’t allowed to use wandless, and I had read most of the books in the house; there was nothing for it but for me to spend lots of time with my favorite brother. 

We could only practice when Ron and Ginny were sleeping, since they were always following me around, but Percy liked having one-on-one time with me; he was used to it, from before the incident, so it grated on his nerves that his favorite sibling suddenly never had time with just him anymore. (Secret sap, my big brother.)

So, wandless magic lessons were random and private, and Percy liked them that way.

“You’ll be going off to Hogwarts soon, you know,” I said with amusement.

He sighed. “Alright. Outside, then.”

Fred looked irritated at the exclusion. “What? What’s going on?”

“What secret?” asked George.

Ginny was giving me baleful looks, which I expertly ignored. I think she wanted us to be more like Fred and George, attached at the hip and all that, but honestly… Well, I just couldn’t spend every day 24/7 attached to a little girl. Which is why I was always off alone or with Percy or even just with Mum. Ron looked like he just wanted to be included, but didn’t give me a guilt-inducing puppy-dog stare or anything, thank Merlin.

I grabbed Ginny and Ron’s hands. “Come on, we’ll show you!” I said cheerfully.

“Are you going out? Don’t stray and put on your coats!”

“Yes, Mum!” we all chorused, doing the latter. It was mid-December, after all. Our eldest brothers would be coming home for the holidays soon, in fact.

Trudging out into the snow, we headed for the edges of the orchard. Percy and I usually delved a little deeper in, or holed up in one of our rooms, but since we were exposing our secret magical practices I suppose it didn’t matter.

I asked Ron and Ginny to collect some sticks, which they did eagerly as Fred and George needled me into telling them what was going on. Percy had a secretive little smile on his face, which he schooled admirably into something neutral whenever the twins looked back at him. The two youngest brought some drier-looking cuts of branches, which I then shoved into the cold earth with difficulty.

Then I looked up at Percy. “Think you’ll get it this time?”

He frowned. “I’ll try.”

I shushed the twins and clamped a hand on a restless and cold Ginny, watching Percy’s attempt. His sky-blue magic was slowly pulsing out of his skin, and his eyes narrowed in concentration. The color, tinged with darkening blue at the edges, concentrated on the branch and trembled in effort… But it kept swirling this way and that, leaking away from the branch; Percy just didn’t have the tight, methodical control that I had (though I’m sure that my Mage Sight certainly helped with that).

Percy sighed. “I don’t think it’s working.”

“Mm, your magic’s too undisciplined.” I agreed, nodding. “I’ll go.”

“Lys! Mum said you’re not supposed to!” Ron argued, sharply catching onto the exercise.

I grinned. “What Mum doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

(“Bravo, Lyssie-” “-definitely a sister after our own heart!”)

I narrowed my eyes, the movement signaling the crackling of my magic. There was a familiar warm buzzing under my skin, gentle and welcoming; if my magic could talk, I’m sure it’d be happy and relieved that I was using it again, that it wasn’t broken, that I wasn’t going to be afraid of it after what happened the last time I was wandlessly casting. The indigo trembled, its gentle hum growing faded and higher-pitched… I grinned at the feeling, at the _rush_ that it gave me. I’d missed it, and I’d only really been practicing with it for a month or two before I was banned for the duration of another month.

_Burn,_ I commanded silently.

The branch burst into flames.

There were _Oooh!s_ and _Ahhh!s,_ but I wasn’t finished yet. I wrapped my magic around the tongues of flame gently, careful not to snuff them out. Then I quietly siphoned my indigo color into it, and the magic suffused with the flames…

And once-golden tongues of fire began to burn… hm, what did I feel like? How about Fred’s dark, cool red? He didn’t know that’s what his magic was colored, of course, but he and George looked positively _amazed_ as the colors shifted. 

Then I nudged the magic in the fire, pushing an elegant arc of flames out to circle the burning branch prettily; it completed its loop and then I changed the flames’ colors to George’s pretty deep violet color, and my four Weasleys clapped in delight as another trail of flames jutted out from the burning branch, curving around me — it was bloody hot but I was very careful, and very skilled with flames — and then back into its source flame.

It was pretty, enough for Ron to grow distracted from his crusade to keep me healthy.

“Wow! Lyssie, how are you doing that?” asked Ron, eyes shining and watching as I blinked and the flames became his shining sunset orange colors, dancing around me again. He lit up at the color-change. “That’s a wicked one!”

I huffed out a fond laugh. “That’s _your_ color.”

“My color? I have one?”

“You all do. The red earlier, that was Fred’s. And the violet was George’s. And here’s yours, Ginny.” I said, making the twins grin at each other and Ginny looked confused and eager; the flames flickered into her subtle, cool wine-red tone.

“What’s Percy’s?” she asked, looking excited.

I made the flames flicker to Percy’s sky blue, pale and pretty and light. Percy smiled at the sight. Perhaps it was instinctive, but he loved seeing his colors somehow. I think they all did, honestly, which was they their favorite colors were so similar to what their magical cores were painted.

“Will you show us Charlie’s?” asked Ginny.

The flames darkened and yellowed and then they were Charlie’s jungle-green.

“Do Dad!” called Fred excitedly.

Deep, lovely royal blue, the edges tinged with greying-indigo.

“Now Mum!”

Bright, candy-apple red; as cheerful and welcoming as the woman herself.

“Can you do Bill?”

I did, and I sighed internally still. I liked doing colorful fire, but they really just didn’t do the magical cores justice. The shades were correct, but there was a life to them more vibrant than mere _flames._ And the sound — I couldn’t imitate the music magic sang, not even if I tried. They didn’t know it, as none of them were Soothsayers, but I could tell. These were parlor tricks, really. But my brothers and sister were grinning with their eyes wide, reflecting the shapes and colors of my fire… Well, I didn't get too hung up about it.

Eventually, though, the branch began to run out and the flames grew weaker.

Fred and George volunteered to go find more sticks for me to set on fire (“We’ll find bigger ones-” “-so they burn longer!”), but I shook my head and planned for the next step. I just… It wasn’t really me wanting to distract them, or me wanting to show off — as if I needed paltry tricks to remind myself why I was a damn good witch — but they were just so _excited._ All of them. But I couldn’t let them touch the flames, Mum would kill me; or, rather, I would kill me. (‘Cos Mum doted on me too much to want to do that.)

So when the branch was just ash, I gathered my indigo magic again; it was humming in contentment, happy to be used for such little things because it just loved being able to come out of my core and play.

_Just like we practiced, Lyssie._ I thought firmly.

The tendrils of magic crept into the ashes, seeping into every tiny piece of charcoal and every little grain of dust, and I slowly raised my hand; the ashes and debris followed my movement — the edges were crumbling a bit clumsily, but otherwise, the soot flowed to my will like water.

I had never tried Transfiguring something before. But I wanted it now, and I concentrated intensely on the image of summer dew and the river that my magic once touched and molded, on the sound and scent of rain, on the warmth of soaking in a bath, on the cool of jumping in the pond. I charged my magic with these images, hands shaking with the effort of a first-time-Transfiguration, the ash fighting against my indigo quietly… slowly… barely…

The first piece of charcoal melted and cleared into liquid, and I found myself smiling at the feeling. It was like something unlocked, and now everything was rushing through in a panic. The black and grey dust and chunks softened and blended and liquidized, black clearing into clear, and suddenly there were blobs of water at my command.

_I always wanted to be a waterbender,_ I thought to myself in amusement.

“GUINEVERE LYSANDRA WEASLEY!”

The water abruptly fell, joining the bits of snow on the ground. I felt myself pale, and looking at my siblings’ faces, I wasn’t the only one. Fred and George both seemed a lot less scared than the rest of us, but that was experience and pride talking — Mum was _scary._

“WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT WANDLESS MAGIC, YOUNG LADY?”

I turned to Fred and George.

Fred nodded solemnly. “Best get it over with, Lyssie-”

“Mum can’t yell for too long-” George added.

“-especially since you’re the ickle baby of the family.”

I sighed. It was probably too late to run anyways. 

Ginny held my hand as we all walked back through the cold, re-entering the Burrow’s kitchen door and preparing for a tongue-lashing. She whispered quietly, “We can have a big water fight in the summer!”

I grinned at her. “Yeah, that’d be nice, wouldn’t it?”

My little big-sister took that as a promise. I would have no trouble keeping it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops. I'm a day late. Sorry about that, college started and whatnot. We're almost done with this arc, by the way. Two more chapters and then Hogwarts. And I believe I'm putting in some Potter next chapter. I just love world-building too much.
> 
> Oh, and thanks to all who left kudos, commented, and/or bookmarked! I appreciate all of y'all very much.

 

 **** **…**

 

So as it happens, my Diagon Alley field trip occurred in July, and it was Bill who took me first.

Really drives home how damn _tiny_ I am, trotting next to my seventeen-year-old brother with his hand holding mine. I’m just a few months short of six, but I was apparently going to carry around the curse of my stupid past-life midget-ness because I was only 3’,6” — which is almost unhealthily short — and I weighed far below what I should. Bill, on the other hand, was not only tall (goddamn Europeans), but he had a good healthy weight on, from all the Quidditch and dueling he did.

(When Charlie took me next time, I was going to feel very inadequate. Fucking buff-ass brothers.)

Anyways, Diagon Alley.

It made me cry.

Part of it was because, fuck, this was _my childhood._ My first one, that is. This was what I dreamed of as an actual child, and it was just as fucking amazing as I thought it would be. Cobbled streets and black streetlamps hung with pots of flowers. Small, crooked shops bunched together with clean windows showcasing impossible things, colorful robes clustered at tables and benches. Shopping bags floating after chatting witches, a man chasing after his young son who’d somehow gotten his hands on his wand, owls fluttering by… It was goddamn beautiful and _alive_ and, really, it was the first time in a very long time that I was completely and utterly happy that I’d been born into this world.

The other part was because _fucking hell_ , my Mage Sight went _insane._

I was moderately okay at home because, honestly, only a few people were ever over; I knew their colors and I could separate them, and I also had the choice of isolation if there were just too many magical cores in one small space. Here, though? In Diagon Alley? There were magical cores and colors and threads _everywhere._ Fucking. _Everywhere._

It was nauseating, how the real world was being blanketed with so many layers of magic, how strings were criss-crossing all over the place like spider webs, how my Mage Sight was fluctuating between burying me in color and then trying to ease my sight and make it all fade; and that wasn’t all. No, I had _two_ sensors for my Soothsayer abilities, didn’t I? The NOISE made me wanna smash my head against a wall. It was like walking into a tiny room containing several loudspeakers, all of them blaring different genres of music. But then there were also whispery tunes, drifting through randomly. I very nearly threw up right there, and resorted to clinging to Bill’s side and burying my face in his worn brown jacket to keep myself from emptying my stomach.

Bill, evidently, noticed this. He shook my shoulder gently.

“Lyssie?”

I groaned. “Too many colors.”

A quick glance up and I saw his eyes widened with realization. “Mage Sight,” he whispered (since my abilities were still on the down low, of course), “Oh, Merlin. We didn’t think about that, did we?”

I shook my head, muttering curses under my breath. I was getting a headache.

“Lys, what’s the Soothsayer spell? Do you know it?”

Right, right. Bill was of age and all that.

“ _Dāno Dī-konden An-drixtā Guinevere Weasley,_ ” I murmured, taking a precious hand off my head and mimicking the twirly wand movement that I’d seen Alby perform for me.

It took a few tries, but Bill got it in the end and suddenly everything went silent. I blinked, then popped my head out from his jacket — when had I actually started burrowing inside my brother’s jacket? — and looked at the Alley with wide, eager eyes. No colors, besides what should be there. No sounds, besides the cacophony of the crowd, occasional owl screeches, etc.

I grinned at Bill. “Thanks, Billy!”

He rolled his eyes at the nickname (which he’d successfully stamped out of commonality years ago at home), but chuckled. “Anytime, Lyssie. Dumbledore hasn’t been teaching you that one wandlessly yet?”

My voice was soft, but enthusiastic. “We’re focusing on meditation and Occlumency because my visions are getting stronger, and he thinks I’ll hit some sorta Clairvoyant growth spurt when I turn seven.” Magically powerful number and all that, of course. “I’ll ask him, though, since I’ll be coming here a lot.”

“No doubt.” Bill said, raising a brow. “Never would’ve thought Percy’d corrupt you.”

“Rude. If anything, I corrupted Percy. His edges are looking awfully indigo lately.”

Bill laughed, ruffling my hair affectionately. “Alright, little Seer, shall we?”

I nodded, taking his hand again and ducking into his shadow when the crowds threatened to carry me away. “Are you going to look for books on Egyptian runes?”

He looked surprised. “Did you See that?”

I smirked. “You want to be a Cursebreaker.”

My brother grinned sheepishly. “I haven’t told Mum and Dad yet.”

“Don’t worry about it so much. The only problem Mum’ll have with it is that you won’t be home anymore. But you don’t really want to be anymore, do you?”

He scratched the back of his head; his hair was getting longer, but not enough for Mum to have really noticed it yet. “Well, you know… It’s home and everything, but…”

“You wanna go explore the world and be independent?” I suggested.

Bill looked startled, but then nodded. “Yeah. Still… Merlin, Lyssie, if I weren’t holding your midget hand right now, I’d think you were my age sometimes.” he chuckled, hitting a bit closer to home than I’d have expected.

“I’m just an old soul, Bill.”

_Truth._

He chuckled again. “No doubt your dizzy spells help, though.”

_Also a truth._

I shrugged, and was about to reply when we arrived. Flourish and Blotts was a right bit bigger than the movies and amusement parks depicted, but it still seemed narrow and cramped with how the stacks of books were practically walls. Bill and I squeezed in, shuffling through a bit of crowd at the ground floor before escaping upstairs. Up here was much more empty, and I was pleasantly surprised when I found there was actually another story, and the floors were quite a bit bigger than should be physically possible.

Gotta love the Undetectable Expansion Charm, right?

“Let’s get my books and then we’ll bring them down to… well, wherever you need to be. I never asked, Lyssie, but what _are_ you researching here?”

I grinned. “Family lines. I want to confirm something with my dizzy spells. I got it from Grandpa Weasley, but I want to see if there wasn’t someone else, too. ‘Cos, you know, the dizzy spells are pretty bad, right?”

Bill nodded. “Smart move, Lys. Even if it sounds incredibly boring.”

“Egyptian runes sounds much more interesting, yeah.”

“Tell you what, Lyssie,” Bill said, giving a grin, “We’ll exchange information at the end, yeah? You’ve been reading my Ancient Runes and Advanced Studies textbooks, you’ll be fine. Maybe if you find something interesting about the Weasleys, I can take those snooty pureblood idiots at school down a notch.”

“Don’t you already take them down a notch by being better than them?” I asked innocently.

He threw his head back and laughed. “You’re going to be a _menace_ when you get to Hogwarts, I can see it already.”

I laughed. “You’ll be the first to know, don’t worry, Bill. I’ll use a school owl, though, so Errol doesn’t keel over trying to fly to Egypt and back again.”

“Hm, he _is_ getting on in the years, isn’t he? Ah, well, best get to work. Come on, Lys.”

 

**…**

 

What I was actually searching for, of course, was two-pronged: what was different about this world that made the war so violent, and why I was reborn here. They might’ve been the same thing, honestly, but I didn’t want to rule out the possibilities.

If I only knew _why_ I’d been born into the Weasley family, I might be able to… 

Well. I wasn’t quite sure what exactly I’d be able to do, but I would be a lot less lost in this damn world. And if I was put here for a reason, was there going to be a cost for not fulfilling that reason? Would I even really be able to get concrete answers from researching, or was I practically grabbing at smoke?

_It can’t be random, though,_ I thought to myself, _I’m too powerful, right smack-dab in the middle of a very important point in history — a point that I’m very well-informed about. Too many coincidences._

So with Bill settled in a corner where he’d be able to look up and see me if he wanted to, I started pulling down random shit from the history shelves to see if I could round out my magical history knowledge first; if there was something screaming, ‘LOOK A CLAIRVOYANT WAS HERE AND IT CHANGED A LOT OF SHIT’ I’d find it this way, right? 

Well. Might as well narrow down the options; if I got nowhere this way, I’d try tracing back the family trees. Blood was important in magical society, after all; no prejudices were without reason, even if the prejudices themselves were stupid as fuck.

Hours of that, anyways.

At one point, actually, a dizzy spell set in; I had to bury my face in a book to hide the obvious unfocused irises of my eyes when that happened. Little flashes of visions, some spells with very gruesome effects — I jotted down notes on those after the vision passed, in a little notebook that Dad had gotten for me just in case I wanted to have physical reminders of what I Saw — a lot of interesting bits of history, like the Hagia Sophia. Again.

“Hm. Weird, I Occluded yesterday.” I muttered to myself, shelving the third or fourth book — interesting stuff about Druidic magic versus ancient Roman wizards, basically the rundown of how Hellenism was tearing old traditions apart; then the addition of ancient Islamic rune circles and alchemy, it was a clusterfuck back then — and walking off towards the genealogy section. “And it wasn’t even anything very important to me. Maybe the spells?”

Hidden in the shelves, I dug into my Extended pockets for the little purple notebook.

_Sickly purple light, fast movement, sharp wand movement —_ And then a stick-figure diagram of the movement I’d seen, very rudimentary and embarrassing considering my previous life’s art skills — _phonetics :: <jen-uh-STRAH-jis AHN-go> probably Latin, might be Greek? effects on human victim = blood pouring from eyes and mouth, presumed intense pain, loss of eyesight or eyes ??? _

Yep, that was a gruesome spell. Was it somehow important? Or the other ones?

I shook my head. I’d keep in in mind but my gut was telling me no. My Sight might’ve been getting more ornery, with how my magical core was growing. Damn cycle, I had to keep it balanced is what Alby said, but I really just… Couldn’t?

_Pure-Blood Directory,_ I read, _by Cantankerous Nott._

Perfect.

Ah, this was where the Sacred Twenty-Eight stuff popped up from. Some of the family names I’d never heard of before, but others — Flint, Black, Bulstrode, Shacklebolt — I recognized. I grinned at finding both the Prewetts _and_ the Weasleys. 

Prewett was positively _ancient._ The name derived from **Фerut(i)** , which roughly translated to ‘last year’ — there was a story about how that’s what the third-century Muggles called the druid clan that were mostly nomadic, circling around the Isles and visiting places once a year to offer their healing and blessing services. It was Latinized to Perette, then Anglicized to Prevett, and somehow (Germanic languages were involved) it became Prewett… Powerful blood, most children born with Grey or Light cores until the early seventeenth century, when they intermarried with Voraustes, who were completely Dark (a dead name, now); then they started gravitating more towards Grey with the occasional Light or Dark. The _Directory_ didn’t go past the 1930’s so I guess Mum and/or her brothers weren’t in there yet, as that generation had decided to fight for the Light…

Ah, Weasley, there it is. As old as the Prewetts, but there hadn’t been many intermarriages; before Mum and Dad, the last one had been all the way back in the fifteenth century. Predominantly Light and Grey cores?

I frowned.

“Bill?”

He looked up immediately, which honestly spoke volumes; the boy loved his Runes. “Yeah, Lys?”

I gave him a wide-eyed, innocent stare that Fred and George had helped me create. (“Looking innocent is half the battle, Lyssie,” Fred told me sagely.) “This says stuff about Grey and Light cores. Alby hasn’t gotten to that yet in our Magical Core Theory lessons.”

_Since, y’know, I really need to have Occlumency and magical control down or else my magic will crush my organs._

Bill nodded. “It’s where Light and Dark magic are from, Lys. Not sure ‘bout the specifics, but if you’ve got a certain core, Light or Dark spells are easier for you. It’s not all that talked about anymore, I don’t know much else.”

“What’s Grey magic, then?”

“The in-between. It’s weird, ‘cos it means you’re balanced but you usually prefer one or the other. Or, er, that’s what Blishwick told me. He studies that more, it’s not really all that well-known anymore.”

I nodded. “Thanks, Bill.”

“Anytime, little sister.”

He dove right back into his Egyptian Runes and I looked back at the _Directory._ I really wanted lessons on that; it sounded much more important than the HP books/movies made it out to be. I didn’t know Light and Dark went as far as _cores._ Which, if my Mage Sight weren’t being soothed, I’d be able to actually See. I’d ask Alby later; the man loved teaching, even if we could only meet up every so often because of how bloody _busy_ the geezer was.

So, Weasley: similar to the Prewetts, been around since the Druidic reign _at least_. That’s the fucking _third century_ , goddamn. Was a clan called **Wliskā** , which refers to the staffs that they used, whoa _weird_ , it was actually Germanized first into Wliesche, which pissed off the Anglicans who changed it to Wealse for some odd reason. It fell to obscurity, though remained Pureblood, and it was only during the beginning of the Italian Renaissance that it somewhat began to resemble my surname, though it was apparently a predominantly Dark house for a while. Under the reign of the Twin Dark Lords (they were not actually twins, apparently), Estmaro II and Ambrose Wealse…

_Dark crimson hair, long and silky — pale face all angles and shadows — silvery eyes that darted to and from the corners of the room, the hidden places under the furniture. Two men sitting at a fireplace made of white limestone — Their wands twirled through long fingers and elegant hands._

“Nos omnes interficere.” _—_ “Quisque.” _— Rune layout in a candle-lit room of stone — white dress, dark hair, eyes full of tears, two men standing before the kneeling woman — “_ Avada Kedavra!” _— CRACK CRACK CRACK!_

“Lys?”

I snapped to attention. Bill was giving me a concerned look.

“Are you alright, Lyssie?”

A slow nod. “Yeah. I’m okay. Dizzy spell, that’s all.”

_The Twin Dark Lords, huh? They’re important somehow, I can_ feel _it._

I blinked again, and started to read. Under the reign of the Twin Dark Lords, Estmaro II and Ambrose Wealse, the House of Wealse grew disgustingly powerful and feared, mostly in _Italia_ , where the main branch relocated for cultural enrichment purposes. But they honestly grew so insane that the rest of the House freaked out, disowned them — including their father — and then the _Directory_ just kinda moves onto how only Estmaro II had a child, who was a bastard, and there was all kinds of goddamn drama because of that.

Huh. What were the odds that I’d find a book on _Dark Lords_ in Flourish and Blotts?

In fact-

Wait.

* * *

_It is believed that Lord Estmaro II and his brother Ambrose were driven to their fate due to the violent death of their mother, Helvynya Wealse neé Prevett, who is believed to have been the most powerful Clairvoyant in recorded history. (More on Helvynya Prevett, page 493)_

* * *

A Clairvoyant. A Clairvoyant of both Prevett and Wealse. Who died a violent, grisly death; one bad enough that her children became demented _Dark Lords_?

“What are the odds of a Clairvoyant dying in such a violent fashion?” I whispered.

‘ _A Clairvoyant can change what they see…’_

_‘Yes. Though… Well, the repercussions are quite…’_

_‘Painful?’_

_‘Disastrous.’_

Page 493 it was, then.

* * *

  _Helvynya Wealse neé Prevett, 1453-1471, the most powerful Clairvoyant in the entirety of Europe; extremely magically powerful, presumable due to Seer-witch blood; one of the most celebrated pioneers in Legilimency and Occlumency; famously known for her book_ Sollertia Augurium, _one of the most detailed accounts on Clairvoyance and a biography of her life. She has been said to have been murdered in an unspeakably cruel fashion, consequently traumatizing her witnessing children into insanity (Ambrose Wealse and Estmaro Wealse II, see page 2934)…_

* * *

 _Sollertia Augurium._ That must hold some answers, even if my little theory proved itself wrong. And my theory _could_ be wrong… after all, Helvynya Prevett might just be some innocent woman that just died a very gruesome death, right? …Not likely, but honestly, this was a _beautiful_ lead.

I could _go_ somewhere with this. I’d have to research this deeply. Thank god she wasn’t a Druid, I wouldn’t have been able to dig up anything _that_ old. 1400’s? Piece of cake.

_I was a fucking college student. I can damn well do my research. Might take a while, but I’ll fucking do it. I don’t even go to school yet, who needs summer vacation?_

I really had to resist the urge to cackle. Bill might give me funny looks.

 

**…**

 

I grew to see Professor Dumbledore as a grandfather.

The first time I thought of something silly like that (our grandparents on both sides were dead already, they’d passed pretty recently though none of us younger siblings were all that broken up about it with how we spent so little time with them), it was right after an intense Occlumency lesson. Alby had somehow stumbled across one of my more grisly visions for the first time since we’d started, and he’d stayed and watched in some sort of transfixed horror as my brothers were torn to shreds before our eyes. When we were in our own minds proper, both of us were pale-faced and I was trembling with violent ( ** _Fearfearfearfearfear_** _)_.

“Er… sorry about that, I suppose.” I muttered, still too eloquent for a normal almost-six-year-old.

Alby gazed at me long and hard.

I could feel the visions playing out between us: _blood splattering like blooming red flowers — leaking from ripped flesh — haggard breathing — fire-colored hair darkened with sweat and blood, soaked in the stuff without abandon. Ice-blue eyes flashing goldgoldgold, bared teeth — moon not full in the corner of the window but his nails were sharp and they tore — Bill screamed, writhing in pain, the werewolf man laughed and laughed — “Not so pretty now, are you, human?”_

_(_ **_Stop._ ** _)_

“Is this what you See?” he asked, voice just _barely_ wavering.

_I bet if you hadn’t cast a_ Dāno Dī-konden An-drixtā, _I’d be able to see the hurt in your colors._

“Not always.” I muttered.

“What else?”

I hesitated. “Red eyes,” I whispered, the images coming to mind, but not at the behest on my Clairvoyance; they were memories. “He has red eyes. The colors of his magic are dark, almost black; some of it _is_ black, and he loves it. When he gives them white masks, he makes them... kill people. Or worse. It’s worse a lot of the time.”

_Rape, torture, self-mutilation…_

I gripped my hands into fists, hating the steady thrums of _fear_ that was being slipped through my blood like my heart was working against me. I didn’t _want_ to be afraid of Voldemort and his goddamn Death Eaters. I wanted to _hate them_ , but all this _fucking child’s body_ could feel was terror at the mention of him.

“Mum once told us if we weren’t good then the Dementors would eat us.” I chuckled humorlessly, “After that, I had a vision… there were people in cells — probably Azkaban with how dark it was — and the Dementors were _really_ eating them. Not physically, but… the prisoners… they didn’t even look like people anymore.”

With every word, the Hogwarts Headmaster deflated into a sorrowful, pitying old man. A tired one, too. He sighed. “A child as young as you shouldn’t have to See such terrible things. I’m sorry.”

I frowned, and looked at him, letting no self-pity or weakness show.

“I’ve seen a dragon hatch.” I said, managing to surprise the man who seemed withered. “I’ve seen a boy step into the woods and walk with fireflies. I’ve seen the ocean and heard the whales sing. I’ve seen the sun set in the desert, and the moon rise in the tundra. I saw when Bill got his Curse Breaking license, and I have to keep quiet from laughing or telling, or else it won’t be a surprise anymore when he gets it next year.” 

Dumbledore looked at me in fascination; I beamed at him. 

( _I am not weak.)_

“Don’t worry, Alby. It’s not all bad. I don’t need pity.”

Dumbledore, for his part, looked amazed. “You are incredibly mature about this, Guinevere.”

I grinned. “Kinda have to be, don’t I?”

He gave me a very kind smile. “No, you don’t. And that is what makes you strong, Guinevere Weasley. There are older, more experienced wizards and witches who wouldn’t be able to handle such a curse as well as you do.”

“Butter me up, why don’t you, Alby.” I chuckled.

He smiled, and it was a tad more genuine this time. Then he looked away, towards his high-arching windows, and sighed. “You have been honest with me, so I shall grant you the same courtesy, Guinevere. You asked me about magical cores, before. Light, Dark, and Grey. I told you not to worry of it.”

I nodded. It hadn’t _really_ bothered me, honestly; there were other things to learn first. Occlumency took up lots of my time, with how bloody _strong_ my Clairvoyance was getting. There was a reason Seers were usually locked away from public view, after all. The visions and power came randomly and weakened our physical bodies; we were just too damn fragile for the world. Oracle of Delphi? Yeah, that’s why she never bloody left her mountaintop. She’d never make it far, and she is the strongest recorded Prophesier of all time. 

So I needed Occlumency to make sure I wasn’t mind-attacked all the time, and to keep the contents of my visions safe. Occlumency meant meditation, though, which made my magic stronger. That by itself wouldn’t be so bad, but I used my magic _constantly,_ since I needed to get a handle on it _so my Seer-magic didn’t attack me._ Like a muscle, I kept destroying and rebuilding it. It was an endless cycle.

Yeah, magical core theory was kinda the last thing on my mind.

“I don’t mind. I know Occlumency and wandless magic and magical control are important.”

“I will admit, it is a bit more pertinent than I made it out to be.”

Frowning, I waited for my mentor to explain.

He sighed. “You are aware that magic is a balance?”

I nodded.

“Light against Dark; one cannot exist without the other. And Grey, the ambiguous middle-ground that is rarely untainted by either side. These are not just the proclaimed sides of the First Wizarding War, my dear. They are categories of magic itself, of spells and rituals…”

“And of magical cores.”

Alby nodded. “You must understand, the study of magical cores and the ambient magic of the world is very vague, very undeveloped. It is only one of the many branches researched in the infamous Department of Mysteries.”

I listened attentively; there was a reason he was hiding this from me, then?

He seemed to read my mind (and I know he wasn’t, really, because my Occlumency barriers were pretty top-notch by now). “While the Light is looked kindly upon for its connection to healing, protection, etcetera, the Dark has been heavily stigmatized because of a side-effect that is called ‘Madness’. Light magicks are inherently weaker than Dark, but are easier to use and master. It’s giving to others, benefitting others; the intent is considered ‘good’. The intent doesn’t even have to be clear, with Light magicks.

“Dark magicks, on the other hand, are stronger, but the will to dominate must be present. Dark magicks are taking, conquering, etc. When one uses Dark magicks with negative emotions and strong will and intent to harm or destroy too often, in too close of a succession, Madness begins to take root. The stronger the emotions, the more likely it is the emotions will take over your mind.”

“Magical footprints.” I remembered from some obscure book I’d flipped through in Diagon, “You leave a piece of your magic in things the more you use them, or are around them. That’s also how colors change, and how people bond.”

Alby smiled a little. “Doing a bit of recreational reading, my dear?”

I smirked. “Of course. But… go on?”

He gave another grave nod. “I’ll explain it more thoroughly later, this I promise you, but Guinevere, what you need to understand is that the Dark and Light are both necessary. But where the Light’s weakness may be found in increasing amounts of impotent wizards and witches, the Dark will produce insane magicals, who then grow into Dark Lords. And the reason I have been guiding you as I have is because you are the first of your siblings to have a naturally Dark core.”

_Oh. Ohhhhhh. Oh, this is making too much sense all of a sudden._

I twiddled my fingers. “You know, I picked up on that when we first met. I knew, somehow, that you were trying to get me on your side. I didn’t really care, since I just wanted to learn… But this is why? You want to make my core Light?”

Alby frowned softly. “I had hoped to gradually transform your core into Grey.”

“Because I’m a Seer-Clairvoyant _and_ Soothsayer. If I went Mad, I’d be the worst enemy ever.”

“Yes.”

_Hm. Well, I can’t blame him. Also, this isn’t canon in the slightest, I’m pretty sure._

I looked up at Alby. “Why are you telling me this?”

“You are strong enough to know. And I trust you to decide,” he said gently, “You are not a child, I see that now. Not completely. You will not fall to the Madness, nor will you side with Voldemort, both of which I feared when I first Saw your core.”

“But how is it pertinent?”

“I have been teaching you through Light means. It slows your progress, as your undeveloped core is struggling to adapt. I will, if you ask it of me, teach you the Dark Arts — of the _legal_ variety. Including a certain ritual to grant good luck to others.”

I perked up at that. _My ‘sorry-I’m-letting-a-grown-man-pretend-to-be-Scabbers’ present to Percy!_

Alby noticed my expression. “I take it you wish to learn magic through the Dark Arts?”

“I just want to be strong enough to protect my brothers. The faster that happens, the better.”

“Alright, Guinevere-“

“Lys.”

“Hm?”

“My family calls me Lys. Or Lyssie. I’m calling you Alby already, so. It’s fair. You’re being fair to me, teaching me to the best of my potential sans any manipulations, so it’s the least I can do for you. Right?”

Albus Dumbledore smiled. “Alright, Lys. This ritual is rather extensive, taken from the Druids of the time of Merlin and Arthur…”

 

**…**

 

I never thought I’d learn flowers this extensively, but I did. Yellow Primroses, little red Maltese-crosses, Cornish heath — that had been a pain to look for — wild golden Daffodils, and Burnt-tip orchid, a deep wine to white color. (I would change the colors later, after the ritual.) Lots of thin, green stems of rowan and hawthorn, woven with grass, tied together with strands of my hair for goodwill and personal touch. 

A crown, a wreath, threaded with ribbons I’d had to ask Alby to conjure (since I didn’t know how, even with all these months of study with the man), encircled with smooth river stones in a field under the moon for three nights — and the stones needed to have runes carved into them, sealed with fresh water or the blood of a sacrificed animal. (I chose fish, because those were easy enough to catch and compatible with the water I could’ve used.)

“ _Ó, urramach Draoidheachd Màthair! Ó ionmhainneach fuil caraid dhomh! Tha mi a' guidhe ort, Màthair mèinn, beannaich mise!”_ I chanted, my indigo magic nearly _glowing_ with affection and contentment, the sound of it like a cat’s purr. It slid across my skin and danced into the open, welcoming the ancient ritual it had once performed and lived in ages and ages ago, lives and lives ago.

“ _Faigh am bliadhna tabhach mèinn, agus cluinn mo cùis-thagraidh!”_ I went on, the words smooth and pretty on my practiced tongue; it had been very difficult, to go through this ritual more than fifty times, completely, but it would be worth it.

(It helped immensely that I’d Seen this before, long time ago.)

Also, I learned quite a bit about Gaelic festivals; many of which were obscure now, known only to the Pure-bloods; and even then, they were out of fashion and very few practiced them. Ridiculous, really. I think there was some sort of Ministerial law prohibiting the festivals themselves, but the rituals — as long as there were no more human sacrifices — were alright. Just forgotten. Apparently not by Albus Dumbledore, though.

It was a shame it was summer; the ritual wouldn’t be half as effective like that, and supplementing summer dew for spring dew made it that much weaker. But I sprinkled little bits of glittering morning-dust on the wreath. The ritual was actually pretty fun; I enjoyed putting it together, stressing out over the little details, learning the ancient incantations on my own. At the end of it all, I’d have a gift for my favorite brother; even if it didn’t work, it could still be given.

(And, knowing Percy, one day — well, probably soon — he would research and then understand the work I put into this.)

“ _Mo tagradh airson iochdalachd, cluinn!”_ I finished off, circling the wreath and stones counter-clockwise steadily, “ _Chan eil an corr 'gam dhìth, tha mi seirbheisiche. Mas cuimhne leat, liubhair dé cha sir!”_

The final words, and my magic almost _crooned_ in delight. The ambient magic in the air — which had no color, only a soft, mirage-like distortion and quiet buzz in my ear — swirled around my ritual. My indigo joined in eagerly, and I braced myself as my magical core spent much of itself gathering around the old practice. I breathed deeply as my magic filtered to and back, filling me with warmth from the summer dew and energy from the blood; it was kind of an uplifting feeling, something like hope, but gathered in the depth of my chest and spreading out in waves of comfort through my veins.

I closed my eyes and reached into my core, trying to see what was going on. (Alby had suggested something along the lines of doing that, which made me think it was perfectly safe.)

The mass of indigo tendrils was pulsing with shining silver, and the strings looked thicker and healthier. There were streaks of gold running down random lines, making the entire think blink and shine. When I reached out to touch a mass of the magic, it felt warm and gentle and very, very happy — enough that I almost physically laughed in delight. My magic was drunk on the ritual, invigorated by it, soothed by it.

(No wonder Alby encouraged it, despite the borderline illegalness; the ritual was Grey-bordering-on-Dark… perfect for my core. I think he was having fun experimenting with my magic and core, now that he’d decided not to keep anymore secrets; apparently he’d never personally mentored a Dark-cored witch, especially not a Seer-witch. “Quite the puzzle, you are, Lys!” he’d said.)

When my eyes opened, the magic had ceased dancing. Instead, it was floating almost _lazily_ , calm with power. I trotted forward, starting to take apart the stone circle, and wiping off the runes drawn in very strong ink, then the water, then the blood; these stones would be tossed back into the river, which would help the water by drawing ambient magic to it for purification. If they were found again and used in another similar ritual, that ritual would be very powerful — but stones must be drawn randomly, and reusing them were a big no-no. 

With stones in my pockets, the crown of flowers was taken into my hands; it was warm to touch, and the flowers seemed fresher than when I picked them. And most likely, they would stay fresh until the this day and hour, a year past; this was a yearly ritual. (Though I read that the old Druid ones lasted for many years instead… A shame that the Roman invasions bastardized so many Olde Magicks, I would’ve been quite interested in seeing how those spells and rituals worked.)

Inwardly, I was cackling. The ritual _worked._

Now the real challenge: how to get Percy to wear it at least for an hour, and then not throw it away when he got to Hogwarts?

…

Real challenge? Yeah, right. Who was I kidding? 

Percy wouldn’t do that if I asked him specifically not to. He was my favorite, and in turn, my brother adored me — not that difficult, really, to get people to like you when no one really pays them much attention and you constantly prove how much you love them through bouts of affection and _actually listening_. 

Makes me a bit jumpy, honestly, because really, these kinds of manipulative techniques (even unintentionally) scream Voldemort all over the place — the only solace I can find is that I actually _mean_ my affection for my brother.

_He’ll love it,_ something whispered in my head soothingly.

I grinned to myself, using wandless magic to change the brighter colors into the pale pastels that Percy’s core liked. Lots of cool colors, but in bright shades: the shade of the sky, robin eggs, cornflower blue, lilac, morning glory.

“He’ll _love_ it.” I said to myself, grinning at a ritual-well-done and pocketing the stones to give them to the river.

And, really, what else was I expecting from my precious big brother?

King’s Cross the next morning was crowded and filled with Muggles. Dad didn’t make it this year; he liked to make a tradition of walking through the Muggle side first, and then showing us the barrier, if only for dramatic effect for whoever was going to Hogwarts for the first time. He was busy, though, and Percy understood (though I could sense that little thrum of hurt in his colors and it made me disappointed, because the emotions I sensed were _soul-deep_ , so this really affected my favorite brother). Bill had an arm slung around Percy, Charlie looked harassed by the demon twins, and my own twin and Ron and I were trailing after our Mum obediently. Muggles gave us strange looks but those ceased as we drew closer to 9 and 3/4.

After Ginny successfully answered where the platform was — she was so proud, even as Ron pouted — we stepped through the barrier and then we were in a world of magic. It was, if possible, even _more_ crowded over here. And a lot more lively, with children running around and families hugging and trunks being rolled every which way. Magic was like that, I thought: beautiful, vivacious, and extremely chaotic.

“ _Dāno Dī-konden An-drixtā Guinevere Weasley.”_

I gave a grateful smile to Bill, the headache had almost set in. “Thanks.”

He grinned, and then started to help Charlie and Percy get their things on the Hogwarts Express. Mum started fussing over the twins, who’d done something to set Ron off, with Ginny taking his tide; I found it a rather golden opportunity.

I waved Percy over, feeling a bit shy and embarrassed about the whole thing (even if it was perfectly socially acceptable for a 5-year-old girl to make flower crowns, I still felt like a 20-something year old giving teal roses and blue daisies to an 11-year-old).

Surprisingly, it was Percy who initiated the hug.

“I’ll miss you, Lys,” he admitted quietly, “But don’t tell Fred and George I said that.”

I nodded; the demon twins picked on Percy a lot, after all. Grinning up at him, I whispered, “I have a good luck present for you!”

He looked on curiously as I rolled up my sweater (where I’d been stuffing the wreath, as the jacket was once Fred’s and was quite oversized). Then he blinked in surprise as I plopped the crown onto his head, setting it just right. As I thought, it matched his color well and even looked good from a purely physical aspect (teal and blue and Percy’s coppery-red hair was nice, I think). I felt my face warm a little — I really wasn’t the girly twin — but I smiled when he didn’t move to take it off.

“It’s for success and health,” I said quietly, feeling irrationally shy all of a sudden, “So don’t take them off, or I’ll know. I’ll write Charlie to tell me.”

Percy laughed, nodding. “Promise.”

I grinned, then threw my arms around his waist. He seemed surprised — my fault, I always felt more than a little awkward hugging these people who were just so much younger than I was and all that — but only hesitated for a second before he hugged back. 

“Thank you, Lys.” he muttered.

“You’re going to be fine,” I said firmly, “Write lots, alright? Don’t let anyone make fun of you because you’re smarter than them. And wear your flowers. Hang them above your bed after the train ride.”

Percy gave me a bemused smile. “I will.”

And then it was time for the Hogwarts-bound to board the train. Bill and Charlie gave Percy funny looks, but smiled in the end. The twins laughed and pointed, and got punished with little flicks from wandless magic (good practice). Mum kissed the three eldest on their cheeks and hugged them silly, but the whistle blew deafeningly and then the three were shoved onto the train. They were sticking out the windows (well, Bill and Charlie were), waving to us younger ones as we laughed, waiving back, chasing after the train wildly.

It reminded me of my first life, actually. We lived rather far away from most of our extended family; visiting took five or six hours of driving, and too much money to fly. So visits were long and happy, and always filled with honey-skinned cousins playing around with each other; aunts and mothers gossiping; uncles and fathers catching up on old times. 

When they left, me and my siblings would chase their car down the street and to the corner, where we’d stop and wave goodbye. It would piss off the neighbors something silly, with how loudly we shouted, but we had to send off our family properly — I forget who started the tradition, but even when I turned eleven, I still chased cars down to the street corner. And when I turned eighteen, college-bound, my brother chased my car, too.

Ah, well. It wouldn’t do, to think about something that was gone. 

As we were trotting back to Mum, the train mostly gone, I twitched a little when the itching in my head began. Very soft and steady, then it began to throb a little, a headache. Something wanted to be Seen, but it wasn’t all that urgent (or it would’ve taken me over).

“Dizzy spell,” I sighed in annoyance.

The twins, Ron, and Ginny straightened immediately. Ginny took my hand and Fred glued himself to my other side, to keep me steady as I allowed the vision to come.

_Copper curls adorned with pale flowers. He was slightly pink-cheeked, but holding his head high through the compartments — empty compartment, good — sitting reading learning glancing Hogwarts curriculum too easy for his tastes._

_The girl with a dark crimson mess on her head pointing at worn out books and she laughs as he does at something nonsensical —_ Hogwarts, A History _. He knows the first year well — slides open — boy standing in the doorway looking mostly confident and a little nervous._

_“Mind if I sit here?” — Yorkshire accent — brown hair cropped close to his head — crowd in the platform a dull roar of noise. Percy glances outside, reflection hitting his face — family is still out there, looking for him and he just noticed._

_“If you don’t mind me reading, I guess.” — “Nah, go ahead. I’m not the reading sort, though.” — bemused look countered by an amused one, quirk of the lips that doesn’t usually grow into a proper smile — not unless she’s making him laugh, his favorite playmate in the family — “You can ask about the flowers, I don’t mind.”_

_“Oh. Well, yeah, I was wondering who they were from.”_

_No laughter. It’s refreshing, others as he’s passed their compartments have laughed — “They’re from my sister. That’s her.” — pointing out the window as the train leaves. The children are running — she was holding Ron and Ginny’s hands and releases Ron to be able to wave — waving and chasing the train._

_The other boy smiled. “Cute, eh? Must adore you. Very carefully put together, them flowers. I got a cousin can’t do anything like that.” — Percy blushed again — smiling out the window even though the platform is passed — the flowers on his head seem to bloom with his own happiness — “Powerful, ain’t it? Not all that popular, that magic.”_

_“Magic?” Percy asked — “The flowers. Old Beltane thing, isn’t it? Brings luck.” — Percy widened his eyes, then beamed._

_“Oliver Wood, by the way.” — “Oh, right. Percy Weasley.”_

_Stop._

I laughed to myself, making my siblings all look at me strangely. Ginny tugged on my hand in curiosity, pink lips pouting. (Most of our bonding time was me telling her stories about my nicer visions, describing how whales sang and the moon rose and flowers bloomed — pretty things like that.)

Grinning, I said softly, “Percy’s going to be just fine.”

The twins snorted. “Of _course_ he’ll be fine!”

“He’s _Percy,_ isn’t he?”

“Bet he’ll make prefect-“

“-or Head Boy-“

“-or both!” the two chorused.

I shook my head, then muttered to Ginny, “He’s going to be very happy.”

Ginny brightened. She wasn’t as close to the older siblings as I was — though she looked up to Bill a lot — but it spoke of our closeness that she understood how much Percy meant to me. I’d even say that Percy annoyed her, but she was happy for me; because, honestly, I’ve been worried about Percy the most. Isolation is as much of a killer as Greyback, only it’s slow and maddening, and I didn’t want that for my brother at all.

“Is it ‘cos of the flowers you gave him?” she asked.

“Well, they’ll certainly help. Don’t tell Mum about the magic on them, though, alright?”

Ginny giggled. “Only if I get one when we go, too!”

I blinked. Then I smirked. “Maybe I’ll make it a tradition.”

Fred and George… well, I’d say that the perfect word is ‘glomped’, because suddenly I was being manhandled by a grinning George and Ginny was getting hugged by an enthusiastic Fred. Funnily enough, that’s usually how us twins paired off: me with George and Ginny with Fred. Habit, I suppose.

“We get flowers too-“

“-right, Lyssie? We overheard Dumbledore-

“-and he was saying something about old Beltane rituals-“

“-and flowers. That’s what you did-“

“-isn’t it?”

I rolled my eyes at them. Bloody twin-speak. No matter how much Ginny and I practiced, we couldn’t get it down. Maybe it was only for identical twins? Unfair. 

“Yes, yes, you all get flowers. Even you, Ronniekins.”

“Stop calling me that!”

(He said that, but I could tell he was secretly pleased that I hadn’t forgotten about him; like so many of our siblings do. Poor Ron… surrounded by twins. It was a good thing, I think, that I was closer to the older three — Percy especially — because Ron needed Ginny as his playmate.)

We reached Mum, who smiled at us fondly. “Ready, then?” she asked.

I gave a lopsided grin that all eight of us Weasley children had inherited from Dad. “Sure, Mum. Also, Percy’s going to get into-“ _Red and gold —_ “-Gryffindor, so should we start making his favorite sweets already?”

She chuckled. “Maybe after your arithmetic lessons, luv.”

The other four groaned. I gave Mum a deadpan stare. “Mum, I _know_ my arithmetic.”

“Then you’ll do well in my lessons, won’t you? Arithmetic is the building block to Arithmancy, you know, Lyssie. The Headmaster told me about your interest in Spell Crafting, and don’t think I don’t see you quizzing poor Pandora Lovegood whenever she brings Luna over. Come on now, all of you. It’s time to go home.”

And that about wrapped up the end of the summer of 1987, I suppose.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm almost done with this arc, which will be nice, and you'll get to meet all the OC's I've thought up and see all the crazy shit I did with Hogwarts. 
> 
> Big, big thank you's to all of you who commented, bookmarked, or gave kudos! Seriously, every comment I read makes me really happy, and every time I see someone bookmarked RPR, I'm over the fucking moon. I'm really, really glad people seem to like this. 
> 
> I'm up to 25 chapters backlogged, so you'll have weekly updates for quite a long time. Hopefully I won't catch up and I'll be able to finish this up, though it's gonna be a long one. Again, thank you all so much for reading and I hope you enjoy!

 

**…**

 

1989.

Fred’s wreath was all burgundy and dark lilac, and colors that suited those main ones. George’s was a dark, dark violet — very similar to me, actually — and a lovely plum color. 

Ginny and I were seven when they got on the Hogwarts Express, and while Ginny was fighting with Ron about something or other, I walked up to the very expectant demon twins with a grin on my face.

“Kneel, stupid big brothers.” I commanded, now eight years old to their eleven.

With a bit of joking complaint, they did. And when they stood, I could almost _feel_ the magic binding itself to them, wrapping around them, protecting them. I’d already had Bill (who was going in as Head Boy this year, Mum had sobbed in pride when he got the letter) cast me a _Dāno Dī-konden An-drixtā_ so I couldn’t really _See_ it, but I knew the feeling. There was part of me in those wreaths, after all.

George threw his arm around Fred and winked.

“You look _ravishing_ , brother-dear.”

“Ah, I must say, you’re the _handsomest_ gent I’ve ever seen!” Fred replied.

“No, no! No one could _compare_ to your beauty-"

“-except _you_ , my dear brother, you gorgeous man, you!”

I laughed at their antics and gave them both another hug before they stepped onto the Express and waved us goodbye with increasing silliness the further they got away. I felt sorry for Bill; he was going to have to curb them as much as possible this year, or else Hogwarts would be _doomed_ for the next six years. Or maybe he’d just let them do whatever the fuck they wanted, since they’d probably be a bit more cautious their first year? Then he’d let the rest of us suffer under their prank mastery that would be the bane of many teachers’ lives. 

Well, no doubt my fortune-bringing Beltane wreaths would crown them with success for whatever they wanted to do. It only lasted a year, but first year is usually the precursor to all the rest of your years. The demon twins would wreck _mayhem_ with their flowers painted their magic’s cheerful colors.

As we went back home, I leaned in to whisper to Ron, “Don’t eat the leftover lemon cakes. The demon twins did something to them.”

Ron, for his part, giggled maniacally (he was often the target of their pranks, and loved being able to pay them back with me or with Ginny), and nodded. I wondered how I would craft his crown in two years, when his colors were the brightest of us all.

 

**…**

 

“Helvynya Wealse?”

“ _Sollertia Augurium_ by Helvynya Wealse née Prevett,” I repeated patiently to a befuddled-looking Alby. “I’m her descendent.”

Alby shook his head. “The mother of the Twin Dark Lords,” he said quietly.

I raised a brow. “You know her?”

“There are few educated wizards and witches who do not. She was one of the most powerful Dark witches to ever live, and never go Mad from it. There are few who have the mental discipline, and fewer who can become as incredibly powerful and successful as she was. One of the greatest minds in magical history, known for her creativity and viciousness. There are many historians who agree that if Helvynya Wealse had ever the inclination, she would have ruled magical Europe easily. Many more still believe that the Madness of her children, the Twin Dark Lords, was the only thing that saved the magical world from a new magical empire.”

I blinked in surprise. I hadn’t been able to find anything on them, and here Alby was just spewing history like it was nothing! I suppose he’d been holding back all Dark or even Dark-Grey aspects of my education before I’d proven myself strong enough to resist the Madness. My near-mastery of Occlumency along with my pure intentions to protect must’ve helped with that. Oh, and my willingness to cast Light spells (though they were much more difficult for me — I’d never have a career in Healing, I didn’t think).

_Thank goodness I proved myself to him,_ I thought.

I wondered, quietly, whether Alby would be this honest with Harry Potter. Somehow I didn’t think so… I was powerful, intelligent and mature beyond my age, and my personality was mostly formed, not susceptible to change. A personality that was fiercely protective of good people from the Light, my family, and had a thirst for knowledge but the humility to accept his help. I had, in short, proven myself to be an ally; and I suppose my Clairvoyance led him to think that hiding things from me would be more detrimental than advantageous.

That was, of course, the more cynical way to put it. Ideally, Alby just wanted to be more honest with me because he cared.

(Pfffffft. Grandfather-figure or not, the man was the _Leader of Light._ A fucking _politician_.)

“Do you think Helvynya’s lack of Madness was because of her Clairvoyance?” I asked.

“It is possible. Seer-Clairvoyants are rare enough that studies on their exact abilities have always been lacking. It is why I choose to hide you, Lys; if the Ministry understood how powerful your Sight was, I have no doubt that you would never see beyond the walls of the Department of Mysteries ever again, sad as it is.”

No doubt he was also thinking along the lines of, ‘If the Ministry knows about the most powerful Clairvoyant in centuries, then Lucius Malfoy also knows about the most powerful Clairvoyant in centuries. And that’s bad.’ Alby was, first and foremost, a manipulator. With good intentions, of course; I loved the old man, after all.

“I want to study her. Her and the Twin Dark Lords.”

“That, my dear, is where I would like to draw the line,” Alby said seriously, “I will teach you the Dark Arts and what Grey magicks I know, but Helvynya Prevett and her children’s exploits border on and _are_ complete Madness. I do not worry that you will grow Mad from what Dark Arts I teach you, as I myself find them simple despite my Light core, but I do not paint you invincible.”

I sighed. “Still a threat?”

“Power will always be a threat. Yours is significantly more so, which means more caution.”

“So no Helvynya Prevett?”

“I would prefer your core to mature, at least, before you attempt to learn more.”

“So it’s not a ‘no’ forever, then?”

Alby smiled. “Is there ever really a forever, my dear?”

I narrowed my eyes, but smiled anyways. “Getting cryptic. Classic move, Alby.”

He chuckled. “You will truly be a force to be reckoned with when you’re older, Lys.”

I grinned. “Bet on it.”

So Helvynya Prevett and the Twin Dark Lords were off the table with me and Alby. He wanted to expand more into wandless magic, advanced Occlumency techniques, and Grey magic (to eventually lead into the softer Dark magic that he knew). It was a lot already, so I suppose I didn’t find it all that difficult to put my questions to rest.

It just meant I’d be researching more on my own.

(Alby thought I wanted to learn more about Clairvoyance. A truth, but I also wanted to learn what Helvynya Prevett or her sons did to have fucked up the timeline enough that Guinevere Weasley was born.)

 

**…**

 

I liked Luna.

She was adorable, first of all. She played with Ginny all the time, and was endlessly patient with my big sister’s brattish tendencies. She was quiet and liked to read, but she also wasn’t afraid to get herself muddy when she went exploring. Honestly, back in my last life, I would’ve wanted my daughters to be like her.

I really did like this little girl.

And then Pandora Lovegood died, and the Luna-that-lives-down-the-road became closer to the Luna-that-I-read-about-and-thought-was-super-cool. Luna became the character I knew and loved; and yet, I felt more devastated than when I woke up from a fucking _Voldemort_ nightmare. 

Logically, I knew there was nothing I could’ve done — I had no fucking clue how Luna’s mum had died until she did — but I still felt _useless_. For all my foreknowledge, for all my Sight, for all my... my _power_ , I couldn’t have saved my next-door neighbor’s family. I couldn’t save them when obviously I should’ve been able to, and now Luna was all fucked up and traumatized from seeing her mum _die in front of her._

Death is traumatizing at young ages. Death right in front of you? Witnessing it? No wonder the Lovegood family always had that sort of interest in death, in the Deathly Hallows, if their family’s heart just up and blew herself up violently one day.

I liked Luna. 

She was a friend, and yet I didn’t do anything about her mother.

Even worse, _I forgot._ I forgot about her pain because I was just so busy with my own things, with my lessons, with my wandless magic. I knew. I _knew_ that Luna was half-orphaned, I _knew_ that she’d seen death before — that’s why she could see Thestrals, dammit — and I did nothing. I didn’t _try_ to curb Pandora’s fanatical Spell Crafting, I didn’t warn Xenophilius quietly, I didn’t _stop_ it. 

Pandora Lovegood had been a sweet woman with platinum blonde hair and hazel-blue eyes and an airy laugh and a spark in her eyes whenever Spell Crafting came up, and I loved trotting over to her and asking her about Runes and Arithmancy when Luna came to play with Ginny. I _spoke to_ this woman, I was _friends_ with this woman. I was friends with her _daughter._ And yet, I fucking stood by and let _her daughter_ watch as she died violently. I as good as traumatized Luna myself, standing to the side and allowing the Lovegoods to just… break.

Shit. If I could do this to one of my only friends outside of my family, what sort of _messed up shit_ was I going to get into later? How could I have let this happen? Why didn’t I try to help? Drop a hint?

_This is on me. I could’ve stopped this. What would it have changed? Fate wouldn’t have cared, Luna’s not extremely essential, is she? She could still be happy and whole and nothing would’ve punished her for it. Now Luna and Xenophilius are half-fucking-insane and I have to see them, knowing I could’ve prevented it._

The Luna I knew would joyfully run towards us, hug Ginny, quietly listen with a soft smile as my sister babbled. Then they’d run off and play in the orchard because Ginny liked having a girl-friend who acted her age; and then Luna would ask me to come, and they’d teach me how to be a bit more childish and girly and I’d indulge them (and secretly enjoy acting like a little brat).

After the funeral, Luna’s eyes could go distant at random intervals, and her smiles were no longer wide and innocent, but almost _wistful._ I _hated_ seeing that sort of soft sadness in a _child_ , a child who was my friend. She’d sit and think more, never run or shout or play. 

Ginny was frustrated and annoyed with the nearly complete 180, and played with her less; but that was also because Xenophilius just had so much shit to take care of, suddenly a single parent, that he just often forgot about Luna and taking her over. It fluctuated between Luna just staying with us for hours and hours, quietly sitting in the woods and looking at nothing with silvery-blue eyes and a blank expression, and her not being there at all, locked up in her house because her father had forgotten.

I’d have visions of her, sometimes, which I cursed because I only began to have them _after_ Pandora died: _Luna sat on her bed, looking at the window quietly — there was sobbing downstairs, great heaving breaths of her father — she crept down and watched, afraid, and when she gathered the courage to approach he didn’t even look at her — hand softly grazing against a robe sleeve — heaving sobs, head buried in arms. There were traces of a dead mother all over the house — “Daddy, please don’t cry anymore.” went a whisper, high-pitched and gasping. Her tears in silver-blue eyes — “You still have me, don’t you? You still have me.”_

_Stop._

I didn’t have to hear the _Aren’t I enough?_ that she was silently asking. I couldn’t even find the effort to be angry with Xenophilius because _this was my fault too._ Luna had lost her only friend, Ginny, who’d become very bitter that her favorite girl-friend suddenly ‘began to ignore her’, had lost her beloved mother — glue of the family — and had lost her father. My friend had lost everything and I frequently set fallen branches and shit on fire with how _angry_ I was at myself.

I couldn’t look at her without thinking, _Oh God, she’s thinner than she was last time, look at her eyes, look at what you’ve done, look at what you could’ve fucking stopped and didn’t because you’re a fucking selfish bastard!_

It was a very irritated Ginny and a subdued Guinevere that saw Bill off to the Gringotts branch in Egypt. Then it was a somewhat upset Ginny and a very subdued Guinevere that said goodbye to the freshly-graduated Charlie as he went to Romania to follow his dreams of dragons. And then it was a normal Ginny (she began to play with Ron more) and an _extremely_ subdued Guinevere that said goodbye to the demon twins and Percy for their second and fourth years, respectively. 

At that point, even Ron was picking up on how strange I was acting, and the demons twins _and_ Percy gave me very encompassing bear-hugs as they boarded the Express.

“Well, we don’t know what’s going on-“ began Fred.

“-but don’t stop writing!”

“If you need some ideas to prank whoever’s gotten you in a stint-"

“-probably Ron or Gin-gin, of course-"

“-then we’re your twins!”

They both hugged me to the point where it was almost painful, George ruffling my hair affectionately (since I was his twin-pair). And I knew that was their special way of saying, ‘Write us if you’ve got problems and need cheering up, okay, Lyssie?’ Percy took the much more direct route, of course.

My fourteen-year-old erudite brother smothered me in his own hug. (It was actually funny, because he was so stiff to affection with everyone _but_ me, since I always covered him in affection since I’d decided he was my favorite.) Then he muttered quietly, “Whatever’s going on, Lys, you know you can write to me in our weekly letters, if the demon twins are too much.”

I smiled weakly. “There’s nothing wrong with _me._ ”

Percy gave me a deadpan look. “And I’m the Queen of England, Lys.”

I laughed; Percy so rarely made jokes, even with me. “I’ll write you when you’ve settled, like last year. Send your and the twins’ monthly letters to Bill and Charlie with you, I’ll mail them with the rest of ours.”

He looked at me gently. “Whatever you’re going through, little sister, you know you can write me about it. It might be easier that way.”

I nodded, and then three of my brothers were gone.

And home felt so much emptier, with Bill in Egypt Cursebreaking and Charlie in Romania dragon-keeping and my favorite brother and the exuberant twins at Hogwarts. Ron and Ginny played together — they both could sense I was gloomy and didn’t want to bother me, since such instances were usually me working through a snag in wandless magic or Occlumency — leaving me to my books and my work, Mum in the kitchen and sitting room, Dad at work as always. And then all I was Seeing was Luna Lovegood, curled up by herself because her father didn’t know how to grieve.

With great power comes great responsibility, was one of the first lessons I’d been taught in my last life.

I was very powerful now.

And yet my friend, an innocent girl, was slowly shattering in the house just past the creek.

_Who else will you fail?_

I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to See the faces of people who needed my strength, and who wouldn’t receive it. I didn’t want to See how many people in this world that deserved happiness lose it because I wasn’t enough.

 

**…**

 

It all came to a head when Dad put his foot down in October.

He and Mum sat me down in the living room, Ron and Ginny sleeping already.

“Lyssie,” my father began, “This has gone far enough. Ginny’s gotten to asking me to fix whatever is wrong with your magic or books. Ron’s starting to sneak into your little library to see if any of your favorite books are ripped.”

I raised a brow. “Is that _really_ all they think of when they think of me?” I said, slightly amused.

Dad didn’t smile. I sobered up; this was serious business, then.

“Lyssie, dear, what’s wrong? You’ve been like this since…” Mum trailed off. _Since Pandora died._

I gave her a meaningful look.

She sighed. “Lyssie, I understand that Pandora was your friend, but… Shutting us all out, even Luna…? Is it just that Pandora i-is gone? I-Is it something else? Nightmares? We can always get Professor Dumbledore to get you Sleeping Draughts or Dreamless Sleep from Professor Snape…”

I looked away, feeling awkward and horrible. I didn’t need a bloody _grief-talk_ with my parents. But I was worrying them, they didn’t deserve to worry this much, honestly… I just couldn’t do anything right, could I?

“Lyssie.”

My Dad was giving me a blank, but somehow still stern, gaze.

I knew that look. A small nod, and I quietly released my peripheral Occlumency barriers. My mind was structured in a way that protected my Clairvoyant visions first and foremost — if anyone ventured that deep, they’d find themselves surrounded by a mist-filled labyrinth among other things — and then my memories, then my thoughts, and then emotions; with the emotions being free to pass through the outermost barrier unless I willed it otherwise. Complicated stuff, that. But I unshuttered the emotions and the thoughts quietly, granting my father access to my mind.

_I killed Pandora Lovegood._

_I ruined Luna._

There was a beat of silence, then suddenly there was a sharp _SLAP!_ and I was holding my cheek tenderly. It was reddening, sharp with pain, and there was a look of determined anger on my father’s face. Mum shrieked when she realized what just happened.

“ARTHUR-!”

“Never,” my father snarled, looking like he was furiously holding down his emotions via his own Occlumency, and stopping Mum short with how angry he sounded, “ _NEVER._ Never _ever_ think that, Lyssie. Pandora Lovegood’s death _was not your fault._ Luna’s grief _is not your fault._ ”

Mum looked horrified that _that_ was what Dad saw in my head.

“Lyssie?” she whispered.

_Don’t pity me. I don’t need it. There are others who do, who need help. Don’t pity ME._

Dad’s voice was gentle. “It’s not your fault, Lyssie. It’s not-"

“ ** _What do you know about it?_** _"_  I burst out, suddenly on my feet. I clenched my teeth, angry with myself, angry with Dad. “What do you know about my- my _visions_?” _My knowledge, my power._ “I knew she was going to die! I _knew_ what Luna was going to be like, how she’d be affected. And _I did NOTHING!_ I forgot, I slipped it to the back of my mind, and now there’s a girl my age sitting alone in her bedroom without _anything_ because I let that happen!

“How many more are suffering because I’m conveniently hiding myself?” _Sirius Black._ “How many people could I help if I only reached out?” _Harry Potter._ “How many people am I _failing_ already, because I’m a terrified _child,_ because I can’t make sense of my power, because I’m WEAK?” _My family, my brothers, this world-_

“ENOUGH.”

I jolted. Royal blue and navy and cobalt were swirling around the room, their voices deep and powerful, angry. Tones of deep violet and indigo slipped in and out of the waves of blue, sparking threads of gold scattered throughout the cool but bright colors. I watched, shrinking back a little, as the blue bore down on my indigo. I hadn’t realized that it was lashing out, that the frames of our pictures were cracking with my anger.

Shame colored my face. I hadn’t lost control like this in _years._ And never to anger. I’ve _never_ had a burst of accidental magic in anger. Only in fear.

I bowed my head. “I’m sorry.” I mumbled, “I’ll fix those. It won’t happen again… I’m sorry.”

_What’s wrong with you? Lashing out at your parents, when they should be the ones angry at you. You let Pandora Lovegood die, you let Luna isolate herself, and you’ll do it again and again and again if you have to._

I hated being a child. It must’ve been the child’s body, making me cry like this.

_You’re already doing it. You’re afraid of dying, so Pettigrew still sleeps in your brothers’ rooms peacefully. They’re right next to a Death Eater and you’re too weak to protect them. And what about Harry Potter? If you turned the rat in, he’d be happier, him and Sirius Black both. You’re so powerful, where’s that responsibility of yours, hm?_

_Daddy, please don’t cry anymore.” went a whisper, high-pitched and gasping — tears in silver-blue eyes — “You still have me, don’t you? You still have me.”_

_(_ **_Stop._ ** _)_

Gentle, feather-light touches on my face. I blinked tears out of my eyes in surprise, and a very soft pressure tilted my face up. Fingers brushed my rugged dark locks out of my face, and I felt exposed and naked and ashamed when I looked up at my father’s sad face.

“You’re disappointed, aren’t you?” I choked out.

(I didn’t know when Arthur Weasley’s opinion became so important to me. Was it when he grinned at my wandless magic mending the shed last week? Was it when I blocked him from my mind successfully the first time? Was it when I taught him how electricity worked? Was it when I told him about how my visions could be beautiful? Was it when he held me, cradled me in his arms, and laughed when I smiled for the first time? When did Arthur Weasley become my father, really? When did I look to him like a child looks to their parents, rather than a reincarnation looking to a character to be respected?)

My father looked at me quietly, stare like steel and home. “No. Never, little queen.”

“I let her die.”

“You didn’t know.”

“I ruined a family.”

“ _You didn’t know._ ”

“I knew.”

He shook his head. “No. You might have known that Pandora was going to pass, but you don’t know this… You don’t understand, my Lyssie, that what happened _was not your fault._ Pandora’s death, Luna’s grief, _is not your responsibility._ ”

“I could have stopped it.”

“Could you have? Did you know the date, the time, the exact circumstances? Would Fate have allowed it?”

“Even if Fate doesn’t, wh-why would _I_ be allowed to choose who lives and dies? Is-Isn’t it th-the _right_ thing to do, t-to help everyone you can e-even if it hurts? Isn’t that what- what _sacrifice_ is? Isn’t my _power_ m-my responsibility?”

Dad looked at me sharply. “Who told you that?”

I mumbled, “No one has to _tell_ me that.”

He sighed. Then I was surrounded by warm arms that were so, _so_ familiar that it made me want to burst into tears again. I was really becoming my physical age, wasn’t I? Pathetic, really. But pathetic or not, I clung to the safest person in this world, burrowing into his robes like I wanted to disappear.

His voice made his chest rumble under my ear. “Lyssie.” he said quietly.

I looked up.

“Do you know why I call you little queen?”

“Because I was named for Queen Guinevere, since your name is Arthur.”

He smiled just a little, so the corners of his mouth were turned upwards. A not-quite smile. “In that case, I would be calling Ginny the same thing. ‘Ginevra’ is just another version of Guinevere. But it’s _you_ who I call my little queen. Do you know why, Lyssie?”

I shook my head.

“Queens are rulers. They are figures of responsibility-"

“Then-"

“-to their own,” he completed, raising a brow at me. I snapped my mouth shut, listening intently to him. “They are not heroes. They don’t sacrifice themselves for every person in the world. They make difficult choices, wield much power.”

“In the name of sacrifice.” I argued, “They sacrifice themselves for others.”

“For _theirs._ You are my little queen, Guinevere Lysandra, because what I wish for you is that you do your best for you and yours and what is fair to everyone else. Whether that is violence against enemies or ignorance towards those who do not matter to you.

“The world is not your responsibility,” he went on softly, “If I could, I would tell you that there is nothing for you to worry about. But I know you See that there is, so I can only settle with this piece of advice: _You are not a god._ You are my daughter, and you are human, and you are selfish, and there is absolutely no one in this world who you are _required_ to sacrifice yourself for, just because you have the power to do so.”

“But… you sacrifice yourself all the time.”

“It’s a selfish thing, my little queen,” he whispered, “You, your mother, your brothers and sister, you all make me so happy, I will gladly give myself up for you all. I wouldn’t be able to do this for anyone, you see? And I don’t want you to think that that’s what your Clairvoyance means. Your Sight is _yours_ , no one else’s, which is why Albus will never ask you to disclose what you don’t want to.”

“I’m an asset. He should.”

“You’re _my child._ I will duel even Albus Dumbledore if he tries. And anyone else who thinks that _my child_ has a responsibility to right all the wrongs in this world that you See. You are not a weapon, or even an adult yet. You are allowed to be selfish.”

I clung to him quietly, thinking this through.

“My brothers,” I whispered. “I would sacrifice myself for them.”

“What’s best for you and yours, little queen,” Dad said, “and what’s fair for everyone else.”

_What’s best for me and mine, and what’s fair for everyone else._

This ability. Clairvoyance. I didn’t ask for it, or plan for it. And though I’ve seen horrible things and know things about the future — hazy, though I’m still acting under the assumption that the plot will proceed roughly the same — was it really… Was any of it my business? Isn’t this exactly why I didn’t ask more about Harry Potter, when I was talking to Alby? And then there’s the added bonus that Fate is picky and wants things a certain way, which is why Scabbers is still alive right now.

Pandora Lovegood. She was practically… a stranger. Someone I talked to on occassion, really. Her death was sad, but… She was not someone I deemed important to myself. Cold, perhaps. But realistic. Not someone I should feel was part of mine, not someone I would mourn as one of mine. Not someone I should destroy myself for. Not my responsibility, even with all this power at my fingertips.

Everyone outside of this family, at the current moment, was like that. 

“Dad?” I whispered hoarsely.

He had been rambling, but he quieted instantly. “Yes, luv?”

I looked at my hands. “Clairvoyance… people will ask me to help them, won’t they? They’ll ask me to sacrifice myself for them.” _And I would kinda want to, just because I have all this power and they don’t and I can, I could, I could help them…_

“They will.”

“…And you’re telling me not to?”

Dad sighed again. “I’m telling you, little queen, that you should not feel pressured to help everyone in this world. Especially if they ask you to tempt Fate. I’m telling you that there will always be people drowning in rivers, and you will see them. But one will be your brother, and the other will be a stranger. It is your choice who you go to first, but you cannot save them all.”

“Pick and choose?” I asked, eyes widening.

“What’s best for you and yours,” he reminded me gently, “and what’s fair to everyone else.”

“Why? No one else will agree to that.”

_They will point fingers at me. They will beg me to save them. They will crucify me._

( ** _Fear._** _)_

Dad gazed at me quietly. There was that look in his eyes again, the one like steel and hearth-fire. Protection and home. “You are one of _mine_ , Guinevere Lysandra. I will **_burn Europe to the ground_** to make sure you are healthy and happy.”

Something pricked in my heart. Had someone ever felt like that for me before? I couldn’t remember, all I knew was that Dad would never break his promises to me and that if someone was threatening me, Dad would _actually_ burn down Europe if he had to. It was a nice feeling.

“Don’t be afraid to be selfish. You’re not a hero, and I would never ask you to be one, not like this,” he said, “Your Sight is _yours_ to use. Your life is _yours_ to live. There are no boundaries but the ones you set yourself, and as long as they are set for good reasons, I will not contest it.”

“Are my reasons good?” I asked quizzically.

“I wouldn’t know, luv. Are they?”

_Love. Happiness. My family. Protection. Self-preservation._ ** _Me and mine._**

“They’re selfish.”

“It’s not impossible for things to be both, little queen.”

I smiled. “Then, yes. They’re good.”

Dad nodded. “No evil in this world is your fault, Lys. You owe it nothing. What you give, how much you give, is your choice. Take up the responsibilities that you choose, not others’ that are pushed onto you.”

_What’s best for me and mine, and what’s fair for everyone else._

“Thanks, Dad.” I said quietly.

“Of course, Lyssie.”

His hand on my back was warm, and I knew that I’d sacrifice whatever I had to in order to keep this warmth. I knew, intrinsically, that the advice Dad gave was very geared towards my abilities. That, in all honesty, this sort of advice wasn’t something he’d ever repeat to my brothers and sister; it was only because these lessons of selfishness and self-worth were taught as one goes through life normally. I’m sure Bill or Charlie had an understanding of what Dad told me already.

And I’m sure I understood it once, before I was born into this world. But then I was here, my physical body so small and impressionable, so pressured by the power inside that I began to wonder if I deserved this. If my worth in his life even went beyond my abilities and my will to protect my family.

_There is no Guinevere Lysandra besides you_ , something whispered, _Your family loves YOU. You are real. You exist here. You are human and deserve to exist and form your own views of things. You are not a tool that Fate wields to fix the world’s problems._

I have — have _had_ — a choice, Dad told me. I could choose who and what I would sacrifice myself for, because I obviously wasn’t going to let him convince me that there was nothing like that in this world. He tried to treat me like an adult, and I admired that he re-evaluated that opinion according to how I reacted.

A sigh.

It was hard, but I thought I understood it a bit better now.

_Be selfish. Use your gift for yourself, for yours. Everyone else will get by, as they always have._

Yeah. This was okay. This was alright.

_(_ ** _Breathe._** _)_

 

_ **…** _

 

At some point, Dad must’ve spoken to Xenophilius, because Luna told me quietly — how she knew it was my doing, I don’t know — that her father began to sit with her at night and tell her about his amazing creatures. She began to look for gulping plimpies in the creek and Crumple-Horned Snorkacks in the woods, and there was a lovely pale lavender in her colors now. She was growing closer to her father, through her adventures in magical creature exploration.

I would join her, sometimes, smile growing as she spoke more. Not like before, she was still somewhat distant and wistful, but there was a real happiness in her eyes now. Ginny thought I was mad, hanging around her now that she was strange, but she didn’t question my whims; she noticed I’d gotten happier again, too.

So here I was, sitting with my feet in the brook with Luna as she chattered on about gulping plimpies. I listened in unfeigned interest, because I _honestly_ wanted to know _where she got these conspiracy theories from._ Her and Xeno, I suppose; there had to be some sort of strange origin story for this stuff, right? It was weird, but I enjoyed weird. Weird was my life. 

Plus, it’s not like she was just spouting nonsense to get a rise out of me — she believed it, and I wanted to understand her and give her a friend who’d at least listen, if nothing else. (Ginny was of the opinion that Luna was ‘acting more like a crazy person than her friend’, which slightly irritated me, but I decided to try not to get pissed off at my own twin.)

I might’ve been partial to her because of my lingering guilt over Pandora Lovegood.

I might’ve also been partial to her because I’ve actually Seen some of her bullying in Hogwarts, and lemme tell you, _Rowling didn’t cover the half of it._ I’ve never _been_ bullied and I don’t think I’ve _been_ a bully, so I want to be able to punch whoever pushes her down the _fucking stairs,_ and I wanted to feel _fantastic_ about it.

After a moment, where Luna quieted and retreated into her thoughts, she looked at me innocently with wide, silvery-blue eyes.

“You don’t have to put up with me, you know,” she said in her soprano voice, “Ginny doesn’t, so neither do you. I’ve been planning to catch a moon frog to keep me company, and I’ve got Daddy, so I won’t be alone.”

She gave me a smile, and I crumpled.

“I don’t ‘put up’ with you, Luna. I like you, and I like hearing about your creatures, and I like fishing for gulping plimpies and catching these little silver things that we sing to and release anyways.” I said firmly, trying to emulate Dad’s strong gentleness, trying to tone down my unnatural eloquence. “It doesn’t matter that we never catch the Blibbering Humdinger in the fields, because we have fun running after shadows in the grass anyways. Besides, what if they exist? Then _I’ll_ look really ridiculous and stupid because I _didn’t_ believe in them, right?”

I pretended not to notice as Luna’s eyes filled with tears at my heated declaration.

Then I grabbed her hand and squeezed lightly, trying to show her that I didn’t care that she was a bit strange. “Ginny will come around. She’s just confused and doesn’t see you like I do.”

Luna gave me one of her strange, serene smiles. “I don’t think anyone sees like you do, Guinevere.”

My heart spiked into a frenzy. _Who told her? Did I mess up? Did she hear me talking to Gin or Ron about a vision? Did-_

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. Your secret’s safe with me... that’s what... what friends are for, right?” she said, her tone approaching the closest to nervous or unsure I’d ever heard.

I relaxed. Bloody Luna with her weird Seer-ish abilities.

“Yeah,” I replied, nodding and kicking at the water a little, “Of course. Ginny’s just being a prat right now, though, and Ron’s just a _boy._ They don’t... they’re not as mature as I am.”

“Because of your dizzy spells?”

“Was it Ginny?”

“Her and Ron,” she said, kicking her feet in the water distractedly, “They’re not very good at whispering, are they? They’ve gotten better, but Mummy told me not to say anything about it. It’s a shame they’ve got nargles in their ears.”

I smiled a little. “Yeah. Nargles aren’t very nice, are they?”

She shook her head solemnly. “Not at all.”

“Where are they from? The moon?”

She hummed, but didn’t answer me quite properly. “Hm. I wonder if I came from the moon, too.”

“Maybe. Your name _is_ Luna, after all. Does this mean you’re a frog, too?”

“I’d like to be a moon frog. Oh, but the _bees!_ There’s a terrible rivalry between them, the moon frogs and the craterwiggle bees. What if I’m a bee? The moon frogs will never be my friends, then...”

Her soft, wispy colors were warm, pastel shades of lavender and teal that sparkled with quiet silvers lining in between, and it hummed in high, sighing voices of happiness as Luna realized — while I spoke to her of a possible alliance between bees and frogs and moons — that I hadn’t let go of her hand, and if she’d let me, I never really would. I would look out for her in Hogwarts, definitely, even if we were in different houses and those sorts of friendships seemed to be looked down upon.

I’d get my damned twin to do so as well, when she finally got over it all.

“Guinevere?”

I _had_ been in the middle of theorizing by moon frogs camouflaged themselves so cleverly, but Luna sounded so lucid that I pulled short. “Hm?”

“Thank you.” she said quietly.

I smiled. “You can call me Lys, you know.”

Luna went back to that clouded serenity. “I like your full name. It’s a queen’s name. Things like that are important.”

“You and my dad would get along, I think.”

She giggled. “That’s nice. Mr. Weasley has Faglewaggles, of the nice sort.”

_Another to the me and mine category, I suppose,_ I thought fondly, sitting with my feet in the brook and my hand interlaced with Luna’s.

 

**…**

 

Ron’s flowers were an explosion of warm colors: warm orange, burnt coral, crimson red, soft gold, pale off-white yellows, and just the palest, gentlest barely-pink what-used-to-be-bluebells. It wasn’t more extravagant than the others, but its colors made it seem that way. Ron was a certain Light-core, very inherently powerful, but his lack of training had his core being only the second largest of our siblings.

Anyways, my making of yet another Beltane wreath meant it was Ron’s time to go to Hogwarts. And when it was Ron’s turn to go to Hogwarts, that meant it was the start of the books. That meant, ladies and gentlemen, _Harry Potter._

_Oh God, he looks tinier than Rowling described,_ were my first thoughts of the Boy-Who-Lived.

I knew that as we walked in King’s Cross (Dad made the twins’ send off two years back, but this year was a bit busy so he wasn’t here again) that we’d cross paths with Harry Potter. While everyone else was busy, I was holding Ron’s crown underneath my jacket as per my special tradition, and looking around for a trunk and a white owl and a boy with green eyes.

Jesus, those eyes didn’t even look _real_. And his colors! He was blue and green and teal and silver and gold, the colors humming timidly but bright as any peacock’s feathers. I was just pleased at the green eyes, though; it was my eternal disappointment that DanRad didn’t put in color contacts for the movies in my before-life.

(I had finally put my foot down in terms of Mage Sight training. Alby simply taught me how to cast _Dī-konden An-drixtā_ wandlessly for myself, enough that it was barely a tug on my magic now, but it set the world off-kilter when I could See and then suddenly not. So I was lowering the intensity of my Mage Sight, and even though the colors were barely pearlescent mist with _intense concentration_ , I could still marvel at how bright Harry’s magical core was.)

Anyways.

I spotted him when everyone else was squabbling (Fred and George had set off a last minute semi-accidental prank on Percy, Ron, and Mum and we had to leave late after Mum screamed them into guilty piles of fear for their lives) and wondered why he wasn’t approaching Mum to ask her for help getting on the platform. That was canon, right? Did something _else_ change?

Wait.

I realized, promptly, that I could see his eyes because _he was looking back_ — and that’s probably why he wasn’t coming forward. I was intimidating the shit out of him with my Occlumency-crafted blank mask, and I should probably stop doing that.

I was about to bound over grinning, like I usually did with my family and close friends (aka Luna, since none of my siblings really took to their childhood playmates as well — Fred and George used to play with Cedric Diggory, but that’s honestly mostly it), but there was a flash in his colors that drew me short. He was all turquoises and deep blues and bright greens, shining lines of gold and soft bronzes running through, but there was something on the edge of his colors. Just barely there, a hint of black.

What I’d learned of Mage Sight, the seeing sense, was very little. There were few Soothsayers, and even fewer of the seeing sense. Alby was hearing, my maternal grandmother had been hearing-touch, and the other two that Alby remembered were smell and taste; seeing sense wasn’t all that common within the very small pockets of Soothsayers, mostly because it really _did_ impede visions and was quite detrimental. ‘Detrimental’ was what these abilities tried _not_ to be, after all, even if there was a cost to their power.

In any case, my own observations led me to believe that — _generally_ , but not always — brighter colors announced a Light core and softer, gloomier shades meant Dark. It was _generally_ because Grey magic was always leaning towards one or the other, which meant that people could be Grey-Light or Grey-Dark, and then their colors would be all over the place. But the thing was, there was _no_ white or black. Not completely. Not unless there was something wrong.

_Voldemort has black all over his colors._

The Horcrux in Harry Potter’s head was bleeding its _filth_ into Harry’s lovely colors?

_That sorta pisses me off,_ I thought irritatedly.

So I gently slipped away from the safety of my crimson-haired family, squabbling over the platform number (though Ron looked like he was going to be sick, he was so bloody nervous because the demon twins were ribbing him about Slytherin). He looked wary but hopeful as I wove through the crowd, approaching him. It was just a few graceful steps, and then I was standing in front of the Boy-Who-Lived who would become the Man-Who-Conquered.

_He’s so tiny, for such a big destiny._

“Hello!” I chirped, putting on a smile to relax the poor kid, “Muggleborn?”

He nodded, swallowing and brushing his hair down (over his scar, definitely). “I... er, is it very obvious?”

I grinned. “Only wizards and witches come to King’s Cross with owls. Don’t worry, the Muggles are delusional. They won’t suspect a thing. That, and the overpowered Notice-Me-Nots, anyways. Are you alone? D’you need a guide to the Express?”

Little Potter smiled weakly at my attempts at lightening his mood, and nodded emphatically to my questions. “Yes, please, thanks. I’m... er, new to all these wizarding things.”

“There’s no shame in it, don’t worry. C’mon, we’ll get Mum to sort you out.” I tried to emulate Mum’s kindness in this, but pulled an eager Ginny eventually and grabbed his arm, guiding him to the spot where Mum was all but shoving Fred and George through the barrier.

“-ed, you next.” Mum was saying.

Fred looked offended. “I’m not Fred, I’m George! Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother? Can’t you tell I’m George?”

Mum looked both parts exasperated and guilty. “Sorry, George, dear.”

Fred grinned and the demon twins were running as he yelled, “Only joking, I _am_ Fred!”

They disappeared into the barrier, and I heard — and felt, ‘cos _whoops_ I was still holding Harry Potter by the arm — Harry gasp. I tilted my head to him and pulled a grin I’d ripped off of the demon twins.

“Magic’s great, huh? Go on, Mum’ll help you out, yeah?”

Baby Potter. It brings a tear to my eye. But really, I watched with a small, hidden smile as Harry ran into the barrier after stumbling through a polite version of what he’d said in the books. Mum and Ginny and I went in last, our arms all linked, and by then Harry Potter had vanished. 

I found him again, though, turning red as he faced the demon twins.

“Fred? George? Are you there?” Mum called.

“Coming, Mom.” they chorused, coming to meet us.

Mum and the twins were doing something with Ron’s nose — there was dirt or something — and I whispered with Ginny:

“You’ll never believe who I linked arms with today.”

“What? But you were with us the entire time!”

“Not the _entire_ time, Gin.” I said, giggling and turning back to the family.

“-are you a _prefect_ , Percy? You should have said something, we have no idea.”

Fred snickered, replying, “Hang on, I think I remember him saying something about it. Once-"

“-or twice-"

“-a minute-"

“-all summer-"

“Oh, shut up.” Percy muttered irritably, promptly turning to me; all traces of irritation melted away, and he smiled gently (I was _still_ his favorite, after all these years... though honestly, any of us could’ve been, if they stopped giving him a hard time and talked to him about books... Percy was a secret Ravenclaw, see). “I’ll miss you, Lys.” he said, repeating the same thing he’d said every year as I sent him off to Hogwarts.

He managed to say it louder now, because the last time the twins made fun of him for it, I did some wandless magic to change their hair and skin garish colors and gave them a minor tripping hex. It had amused them more than annoyed them, luckily; and more fortunately, Percy had laughed at their attempts to walk away afterwards.

I hugged him tightly, grinning at his prefect badge. “You’re gonna be the best prefect ever, Percy. Just... go easy on the demon twins, okay? They’re on Alby’s hit list anyways, they’ll be in detention just as much as class.”

Percy chuckled, stepped back from my hug to receive one from Ginny (she liked to do what I did now, the dear girl) and turned to receive a kiss on the cheek from Mum before he walked away on the train.

Mum turned to the twins, her voice stern.

“Now, you two — this year, you behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you’ve- you’ve blown up a toilet or-“

“Blown up a toilet? We’ve never blown up a toilet.” Fred mused.

George beamed. “Great idea, though, thanks, Mom.”

Mum, for her part, seemed to just give up, her hands thrown in the air. “It’s _not funny._ And look after Ron.”

“Don’t worry, ickle Ronniekins is safe with us.”

Ron’s ears reddened. “Shut up.” he muttered.

George brightened, though. “Hey, Mom, guess what? Guess who we just met on the train?”

Fred chimed in, “You know that black-haired boy Lyssie brought with us? Know who he is?”

Mum was curious. “Who?”

“ _Harry Potter!”_ both twins said.

Cue Ginny.

“Oh, Mum, can I go on the train and see him, Mum, oh please...” she begged and squealed, pulling at Mum’s hand.

“You’ve already seen him, Ginny, and the poor boy isn’t something you goggle at in a zoo.” our mother said a tad impatiently before turning to Fred. “Is he really, Fred? How do you know?”

“Asked him. Saw his scar. It’s really there — like lightning.”

“Poor _dear —_ no wonder he was alone, I wondered. He was ever so polite when he asked how to get onto the platform.”

Suddenly Ginny whirled on me, her eyes flashing with childish indignation. “You _knew_ , Lys! Didn’t you? You knew who he was and didn’t tell me on purpose! Mum, I bet Lyssie knew!!”

I frowned, as I always did when Ginny fan-girled. I was, after all these years, _done_ with her Harry Potter hero-worship, and very much looking forward to when she finally looked at him like an actual human being. “C’mon, Gin, don’t be like that. I didn’t See a thing, honest.”

_But I_ did _know..._

“-think he remember what You-Know-Who looks like?”

I shuddered as Mum tore into George for that question. I don’t think Harry Potter remembered, but _I_ certainly did. _Red eyes, rolling in shadowed, sunken eye sockets — dark hair — neat and handsome but vile — black colors — pale hands, fingers holding the yew wand, a smile that sent shudders down the spines of his own followers, donning white masks. He pointed his wand — green light — a scream, and then laughter from the Death Eaters…_

The whistle sounded, and I jolted.

The twins hopped on the train, but I grabbed Ron before he could follow.

“Lys, let go, I’ll miss it!” he hissed.

I glared at him. “Nope. You’re getting your flowers, Ron, like everyone else!”

He wasn’t really mad, his fiery colors actually preened in happiness, but he put on a scowl anyways. “Bill and Charlie never did!”

“I was too young then, prat-face. C’mon, even Fred and George attest to their luck-bringing qualities!”

The demon twins piped up and agreement, and Ron finally lowered his head to led me pull his crown out of my jacket and onto his crimson hair. His own fire-colored flowers looked nice with his red hair, and he blushed to the tips of his ears as I hugged him tightly and muttered, “Love you, Ron. You’re going to do great!”

Ron finally got on and Ginny began to cry, wanting desperately to go on with her brothers and her last male playmate. When I was with Luna, it was usually Ron with Ginny; I’m pretty sure he was closer to her than I was (it made Luna feel awful, but I told my heart-sister that I didn’t mind one bit and honestly, Ginny and I were very different anyways. I probably wouldn’t be able to handle her properly until Hogwarts, even thought I loved her very much).

“Don’t, Ginny, we’ll send you loads of owls.”

“We’ll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat.”

I frowned, mock indignant. “Do I get one??”

“You? Of course! We’ll get Alby to sign it!”

“ _George!”_

“Only joking, Mom.”

“Don’t call your Headmaster that! Lys, George, either of you!”

I pouted. “Alby _loves_ his nickname, Mum.”

The Hogwarts Express began to move, slowly, and children scrambled on. Ginny ran after the train, laughing and crying as the demon twins made faces at her, I stood with our mother and waved enthusiastically. 

I didn’t want to run; there were things to do, and an itching in my head that foretold my Clairvoyance suggesting a vision, but not forcing. It had gotten a lot more… Obedient? Cooperative? Yes, cooperative; as long as I Occluded and meditated every once in a while, and right before I went to bed, I never lashed out with magic anymore. It was softer, a bit less gung-ho about getting me to See every little thing it wanted.

I let my Occlumency barriers droop a little, calmed my breathing, and released my magic, focusing my efforts on my youngest big brother, calling up my love and worry for him. Emotions, I’d learned, were fantastic to temper my magic, Seer-magic included. Intent was another, of course. Intent was a lot of things in regards to magic.

_A compartment door slid open, and inside was Harry Potter — Ron was a bit ignorant of that for now — just trying to find a place to sit comfortably — “Anyone sitting here?”— shuffling in place a little, uncomfortable with confrontation without a brother or sister behind him — “Everywhere else is full.” The kid shook his head, and Ron sat. The twins came to check on him — introductions were made — “-Harry Potter!” — Ron shook his head in wonder — surprised blue eyes — wondered about the boy across from him._

_“Are you really Harry Potter?”_

_A nod from the boy-hero._

_“Oh — well, I thought it might be one of Fred and George’s jokes... And have you really got — you know...?”_

_He saw the scar, and couldn’t help a silent gasp._

_“So that’s where You-Know-Who...?”_

_More rude questions — then Ron seemed to remember his manners — looked out the window._

_“Are your family all wizards?” — “Er — yes, I think so. I think Mom’s got a second cousin who’s an accountant, but we never talk about him... there’s a lot of family, we can’t really keep track of it all.” — Harry was staring at the top of Ron’s head — a blush — he was looking at the flowers — bright and shining like sunset — fire — warmth of home._

_“My sister, Lys — well, her name’s really Guinevere but we call her Lys, for her middle name. Er . . . well, when my brother Percy went off to Hogwarts for the first time, she was really worried ‘cos he’s kinda quiet and bossy, so she made him a crown of flowers for luck. Fred and George are arses, so they gave him the mickey about it until they went off, and she made them some, too. It’s apparently given them good luck for their first year, so... I dunno, it’s tradition.”_

_Harry smiled — “Does she make them with magic?” — “Huh? The crowns? Er…” — “You don’t have to tell me.” was quickly said — Ron jolted, looking at Harry strangely — not the way a hero should behave, he realized._

_“It’s nothing big. She does, but it’s a ritual. Not… Not very looked kindly on, you know?” — “Er… I didn’t, actually.” — “Right, right. Yeah, Lyssie does all this fancy magic to make it lucky, then she changes the colors. Different for all of us.”_

_There was a strange smile on Harry’s face — “It must be nice to have a sister that likes you that much.” — Ron looked pleased — “Lys feels like a big sister sometimes, with how mature she is. But then she does weird stuff like_ flower crowns _and, well... anyways, I heard you went to live with Muggles. What are they like?”_

_Stop._

Snapping myself from the vision of the present, I grinned. 

Ron would be fine. He was a bit more even-tempered with my interference, and managed to read a bit more as long as I animatedly walked him through the boring parts, so I think he’d do just fine. He’d get through Hogwarts, better than before, even.

“Shall we play in the creek when we get home, Ginny?” I asked, grabbing her hand.

She looked surprised, then very, very excited. “Okay!”

It looks like I’d be spending the year bonding with my twin sister. I was alright with that.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holy hell, this is a long chapter. But never fear, this is where the childhood arc ends! We're gonna get into the OC's and Hogwarts shennanigans! Yay!
> 
> Thank you to all who commented/bookmarked/kudos-ed. Out of curiosity, would any of you commenters mind if I replied to you? I want to, but I don't see a lot of authors who do, so I'm just wondering. Still a fanfiction newb, me.
> 
> Oh, and there are bits and pieces that I quote directly from the books. Mostly dialogue, but yeah. I still don't own it, of course, but just a head’s up. You saw this last chapter, too.

 

**…**

 

Nothing _remotely_ interesting happened until summer came. 

When summer started and we went to pick the boys up from Hogwarts, of _course_ Ginny squealed: “Harry Potter! Look, Mom, I can see-“

“Be quiet, Ginny, and it’s rude to point.” our mother sighed, before smiling at the so-called Golden Trio. I had been Seeing some of their more famous adventures, of course, trying to calm down my inner fangirl and rationalizing it by saying I was looking after Ron.

(I was totally just watching the first book of Harry Potter unfold for fun)

“Busy year?” Mum asked Harry kindly.

“Very,” he replied, then brighter, “Thanks for the fudge and sweater, Mrs. Weasley.”

“Oh, it was nothing, dear.”

To my surprise, Harry turned to me and gave a small smile (Ginny was hiding behind Mum at this point, having vacated the spot next to me as soon as Harry smiled). “Ron told me it was your fudge recipe. Thanks.”

I glanced at Ron, who was greeting Mum. Then I beamed at Harry, delighted at the prospect of a polite pre-pubescent boy who wasn’t a little shit on Call of Duty and who wasn’t related to me.

“You’re welcome, Potter,” I said. “I’m Guinevere, by the way.”

He nodded politely. Then his smile widened a little, turning a bit sheepish as he scratched the back of his head. “Oh, and, er, before, at King’s Cross… Thanks for helping me get to the barrier and all that.”

I smiled again. “No problem, Potter. Looked like you were going to be eaten by the crowd before you even got to Hogwarts.”

He looked surprised by my casual, if friendly, treatment of him. “Er-“

I leaned forward, muttering, “And don’t mind Gin, she’s just a little obsessed. She’ll grow out of it once you start coming over a lot.”

“I’m... not to be rude or anything, but I’m surprised that you... er- that _you-"_

“Aren’t the same? No offense to you, Potter, but I never read your books. I was the one trying to hunt my own trolls in the woods and stuff. Or, well, Crumple-Horned Snorkacks lately. I’ll tell you all about it when you come over this summer.”

Poor Potter seemed a bit dazed. “I… have a book where I’ve hunted trolls?”

“It’s not like it’s not true now, is it?” I said, grinning.

He looked surprised, but he didn’t get to say anything as his uncle — the fucking tub of lard — called him over like a least-favorite animal. There were more goodbyes, and then the Weasley clan all reunited and went back to the Burrow, Ginny talking ears off about Harry Potter and Percy snapping at the twins as they ribbed him. I leaned my head against Ron’s shoulder and gave him a sly grin.

“You’re _so_ lucky I’m sworn to secrecy about my visions.” I said.

Ron paled, understanding at once that I’d seen all the crazy shit he’d gotten up to.

Honestly, eleven-year-olds fighting trolls and Cerberuses, playing in giant chess matches that result in painful injuries, almost being poisoned, and then facing off against the Dark Lord? The more I thought about it and Saw it this past year, the more I questioned Alby’s sanity. I’d have to quiz him on _why_ he thought it would be a good idea to _test my brother_ this year. Probably explain to him not to do it purposefully again, because it looked awfully purposeful.

“You’re not gonna tell Mum and Dad, are you?” my littlest big brother whispered.

“No, of course not!” I laughed, patting his knee familiarly. “No, _that,_ dear brother, I’m leaving to _you._ ”

My brother went even paler. “…Do I have to?”

“They’re going to find out _somehow,_ you know. Alby’s _sure_ to come over and give out hints like lemon drops.” I chuckled.

The rest of the way home, we brainstormed how to avoid Mum’s wrath when we told her about Ron’s crazy dangerous shit.

 

**…**

 

Percy escorted me to Diagon Alley this time. He wasn’t of-age, of course, but the only ones at home that were, well… Dad was busy at work (he always was) and Mum was taking care of the house and the others. I hadn’t managed to break away from my escort yet because a wandless Disillusionment was _hard as shit_ , and they were very attentive, so Notice-Me-Nots weren’t going to cut it. Most sheltered Weasley and all that, I suppose.

Anyways, it was Percy because he wanted to read as well, and I think later he was going to meet Oliver Wood — _that_ was a friendship that wasn’t canon, definitely, and it surprised me and still surprises me to this day — and Nicholas Rowle, a pureblood Ravenclaw at Fortescue’s later. I liked going to Diagon, if only because researching stuff beyond the Hogwarts curriculum (I had completed it, and was in 5th year of my second go-through just in case) was made easier if I had access to books.

“Are you going to take me back home when you go see Oliver and Nicholas?” I asked, sitting on the floor of Flourish and Blotts with a book on the intermingling of Nordic, Old Celctic and Gaelic, and Egyptian Runes.

Percy looked up from his own research on the Ministry, which he’d set his heart on already.

“Will you be done by then?” he asked.

“Mm, I sort of wanted to see if I couldn’t find more books on core allegiances.”

“The Light, Dark, and Grey allegiances?” he asked in surprise, “I only learned about those last year. Hm… If we had any spending money, it would’ve been nice to study that…” There was a wistful edge to his voice.

Our near-poverty was hitting hard recently, actually. So many of us going to Hogwarts, Mum and Dad barely knew what to do. I was sure that’s why Dad was working so much, and why Mum was always speaking to Alby when she could. They were trying to see if either Ginny or I couldn’t get in with a scholarship somehow; probably me, since I was Alby’s somewhat-apprentice at this point. We just didn’t have enough funds for all eight of us, I suppose.

(The guilt ate at me sometimes, but I centered myself with Occlumency quick enough. That, and my mantra as of late: _What’s best for me and mine, and what’s fair to everyone else.)_

But I nodded to Percy’s question. “My, er-" I whispered here. “- _Mage Sight,_ I feel like I could tell what core allegiance someone has, but I just don’t know how. I wanted to learn more about it, since Alby’s more focused on practical wandless magic right now.”

“You mastered _Accio_ , didn’t you?”

“Mm-hm.”

Percy smiled. “You’ll have to teach me that one. I haven’t practiced in a long time.”

I nodded. “I guess Hogwarts has kept you busy.”

He shrugged a little. Then he checked his watch. “Well, I probably won’t be _too_ long. If you need more time to read, I’ll always encourage that. Education is very important, of course, and you set a good example for Ginny with how much you study. I’ll come back for you at five o’clock, alright Lys? And…” He sighed here. “We’ll tell Mum that I took you with us, I’ll tell Oliver and Nicholas…” Then my brother smiled deviously. “As long as you tell me all about core allegiances later, alright?”

_This is too perfect._

I nodded eagerly. “Promise!”

He smiled crookedly, ruffling my hair. It had just been cut recently by Fred, and he always managed to make it look so much more interesting than I could. “I’m off. Be good, use your wandless _Point Me_ if you need me.”

“Okay. Have fun, Percy! Don’t let Oliver infect you with Quidditch-stupid.”

He laughed. (Was it horrible that I was smug about being the only one of the family that could get him to laugh on a regular basis?) “I’ll try. Five o’clock, Lyssie.”

Then my brother disappeared. When I twitched my fingers and took the Soothsayer Soothing spell off, I was blasted with nausea just before I focused my mind on thinning my abilities. The screaming song of magic lightened into a strange whispering hum of all kinds of tunes, and the bright, swirling _heaps_ of color faded into something just barely there, ghostly imprints of what it should look like. And much lessened, too, so instead of large clouds of color marking magic and presence everywhere you looked, it was just faint outlines over bodies and very magical objects.

Alby told me, actually, that if I weren’t so excellent an Occlumens, I wouldn’t be able to control my Mage Sight like this.

There was no sign of Percy’s sky blue and indigo magic, so I relaxed completely. A few minutes of cautious waiting, then I cast a powerful Notice-Me-Not and slipped out the door.

It was early summer, but still hot. Which made it really uncomfortable, but I managed to walk in shadows and on the edges of the crowd. The place was crowded and loud, and wisps of magic kept invading my vision, but eventually I was at the edge of Diagon and looking into Knockturn.

Historically, Knockturn was built first. Diagon was a newer addition, the nicer one, and thought it was cramped according to my American standards, it was _enormous_ compared to the clutter and narrowness of Knockturn. The place was a cesspool of nonhuman magicals and illegal activities. It was expanded and built up and carved up by all sorts of different, nonprofessional architects; it was a labyrinth, and it was _dangerous._ The seat of the legal and illegal Dark, hidden away like this; I found it sad, to be honest, because there was nothing inherently _wrong_ with Dark allegiances.

“Seems like the part of the movie where you tell the character to turn back and stop being suicidal.” I muttered to myself.

Cranking my Mage Sight up, I could see all sorts of very _wrong_ colors in there. Well… maybe not _wrong_ , just _not human._ They moved differently; less like mist and more like oil, or like dye in water. They were much darker, tinged with blacks and sepia tones. Their music was much more sinister, more whispery and guttural and, well, just… Not what I was used to. A little frightening, almost. But very cool, thinking objectively.

Violet-colored eyes, glowing in the shadows. I stiffened at the sight of them. There was a figure standing in the shadows, just standing there and waiting and looking at me hungrily. I gazed at his colors, trying to figure out what he was. The magic around him was… odd. The hum was almost whispers, the way the colors moved was sluggish and strange… They kept shifting in and out of shades of black, the spider-silk strings frayed and loose, like it was…

_Dead._

A vampire, no doubt.

Dammit. This meant more research. I was going to die if I tried to go in there. I thought I might’ve gotten off lucky, not needing my wandless to sneak away, but it looks like I’ll need it to actually not die when I’m gallivanting in Knockturn Alley. Which meant more practice, more time, and a lot more research on what was in there, what I wanted, and how to get past and to those things without any blood.

I nodded to myself. “Good plan. Better.”

So I turned on my heel and returned to Flourish and Blotts, intent on reading about vampires and core allegiances. I’d bet anything that I’d find a copy of Helvynya Prevett’s _Sollertia Augurium_ and more things on the Twin Dark Lords in Knockturn Alley. And for some reason, that particular vampire with violet eyes was important. A guide, perhaps?

Well. I could deal with that.

 

**…**

 

We’ve had the Ford Anglia for a while, actually. I think it was much more, er, _upgraded_ than in the books/movies, because Dad and I worked on it together and we both had an understanding of Muggle electricity and mechanics because of my Clairvoyance. It ran much better, using whoever was driving it as the power source — granted they contained magic equivocal to a witch or wizard — and the invisibility button was less wonky. It used to be a seafoam color before, but Dad and I thought it’d be _hilarious_ if we spray painted it black with flame designs. Fred and George helped with that, years ago.

We would’ve added skulls and shit too, if Mum hadn’t put her foot down. Transfiguring the old seat covers into an annoying shade of red was fun, too, though we hadn’t quite managed to make them leather permanently. Dad and I laugh about it all the time, and the demon twins love that we made it look so utterly tacky. We kept adding bits and pieces to it over the years, including a wireless _along with_ the Muggle radio; so we could switch between the wizarding world’s news and Muggle Rock n’ Roll as we pleased. The car wouldn’t have been complete without some sort of punk music.

In any case, when I woke up one morning, my Clairvoyance buzzing behind my Occlumency barriers, and saw the _fantastic_ Ford Anglia was gone…

I grinned.

“What’re you smiling about so early?” Ginny mumbled; she was a light sleeper, probably my fault, and was squinting up at me with bleary eyes.

“Remember how I told you that most sentient things have colors?”

“Mm-hm…”

“The Ford Anglia is a _fantastic_ punk-purple and red.”

“Mm-hm…”

I rolled my eyes. “Go to sleep, Gin-gin, I’m off to make breakfast.”

She smiled sleepily. “Yaaaaaay…”

(I made kick-ass bacon and omelets, if I do say so myself. Oh, and toast. I loved buttered toast.)

Might be best to try to soften Mum up, anyways. She was going to be _furious_ about the car and the kidnapping that I had no doubt was occurring today, so it’d be nice to keep her a bit happy about _something._ Who knows, she might go easy on them when they came back!

“Funny joke, Lyssie,” I muttered to myself.

I was about to go down, but I stopped on the landing. Frowning thoughtfully, I switched directions and started upstairs. Quietly, I padded up the stairs — Mum and Dad were still asleep — and peeked into Fred and George’s empty room (a dangerous undertaking on any normal day). Yep, no note and they didn’t even _try_ to cover their tracks. Sad, really.

They probably _deserved_ the tongue-lashing Mum would give them, but I decided to be merciful and stuff their pillows under their blankets in vaguely human-shaped lumps. I went up to Ron’s attic and did the same to him, poking my head up into the ghoul’s room to say a quick hello to him — his dull, muted blue colors brightened a little when I did, and I’m sure it would be easier for us in Ron’s seventh year if the ghoul recognized one of us.

With that, I decided to start breakfast. My family usually appreciated the times, few and far between as they were, when I would actually cook. It’d make Mum just the slightest bit mollified, like I said. I could use a favor from the demon twins and Ron.

Mum woke up and like I’d thought, the pillow decoys were only a temporary fix because she finally got impatient and stormed into the twins room only to shriek in anger and horror as she found my poor twin pillow lumps. She stormed up to Ron’s room to find the same, and woke Percy checking his room (he probably went back to sleep, Percy was surprisingly not a morning person).

I wasn’t surprised, though, as the car landed in the yard and was parked; Mum undoubtedly heard the same, and I cringed as she stormed past the kitchen — not seeing me in the middle of breakfast-cooking — and started screaming at the twins and Ron for everything. Peeking out the window, I had to hold back a burst of laughter at the gangly brothers all shrinking at the sight of Mum on the warpath, and then their spluttered indignation as she turned to Harry with all smiles and rainbows. They walked towards the house, and I hummed with the radio — Celestina Warbeck couldn’t hold a candle to the music of my old-life, but that was okay — as they came in. 

“-on’t know _what_ they were thinking- Oh! Lys, I didn’t even see you, dear!”

I grinned. “I noticed, Mum. I thought I’d try to put you in a better mood by starting breakfast. Go easy on them, please? I Saw they’d be fine, and that Potter needed it and all.” I explained, wiping my hands on the oversized apron.

She looked cross, grumbling still. But she smiled at me a little. “I’ll take over, Lyssie. You’ve been up early.”

“It’s mostly done anyways, Mum.”

I hung up my apron and received a hair-ruffling from Fred and a wink from George. Ron just looked happy at the smell of food, and Harry smiled nervously at it all.

I skipped down to Ginny and my room, rousing my sister with a secretive smile and a, “There’s a _surprise_ for you in the kitchen, Gin.”

When I came back, Mum was lecturing. (Not surprising.)

“It was _cloudy,_ Mum!” Fred near-whined.

“You keep your mouth closed while you’re eating!”

“They were starving him, Mum!” George said in a similar tone.

“And you!”

Then Ginny entered, spotted Harry, squealed, and ran out. I laughed, ignoring the disapproving look Mum sent me and the smirks from the twins.

Arguing commenced on whether they would be allowed to go to bed.

“It’s your own fault you’ve been up all night. You’re going to de-gnome the garden for me; they’re getting completely out of hand again-“

“Oh, Mum-"

But she glanced at me and I grinned a little. Our mother sighed. “And _after_ that, you can go to bed — but if I catch you sneaking off an-and . . . and prancing on your brooms to Surrey again, you won’t have Lys to make pillow-dummies in your beds and save your hides again!”

Fred and George laughed and swung their arms around my neck, one on either side of me, and we marched out the door in good fun; I asked them about their nightly adventure and they regaled me with epic tales of dueling troll-sized Muggles with bushy mustaches and saving 12-year-old Potter-esque damsels in distress from barred towers. I watched them fling the gnomes around, cheering as Harry nearly beat Charlie’s record. But my Sight alerted me to Dad coming back from another all-nighter at the Ministry, and I rushed back in to make him a cup of tea before he was cornered by Mum on the issue of the Ford Anglia.

After I greeted Dad with a hug, I went to find Ginny and tease her about Harry.

All in all, a good day.

 

**…**

 

_Bloody buggering Lockhart. Liar, cheat, scoundrel- I should kick him, how_ dare _he seduce my mother like this._ I thought viciously, reading the booklist. I was _so_ not looking forward to this stupid shit at Hogwarts, especially since I was caught up on most of the curriculum.

“That lot won’t come cheap,” George was saying, “Lockhart’s books are really expensive...”

“Well, we’ll manage.” I heard the note of tension in Mum’s voice. “I expect we’ll be able to pick up a lot of Lys and Ginny’s things secondhand.”

Harry was kind enough to try to speak to Ginny with a friendly, “Oh, are you starting at Hogwarts this year?”

I growled at the list marring my lovely, dream-come-true Hogwarts letter. Fucking Lockhart and his poncy smile. “Don’t get me the books, Mum.” I said, glaring at the list — _I’ve wanted a Hogwarts letter for nineteen years and now I’ve got to remember Lockhart!_ — “I’ll just look off someone else’s, and I can use most of Percy’s old things for the rest. All I really need are robes and my wand. I’ll dig up everything else from the boys.”

Mum looked at me with a mixture of pride and sadness.

“Of course, not, Lys — what we can buy for Ginny, we can buy for you-“

I waved my hand. “I’ve annotated most of the textbooks already, I’ll use those.” Then I looked at the list again. “Why would we _all_ want a full set of his books? None of us will ever have Defense at the same time, so we should just buy _one set_ and we’ll all share. That’d be much easier. So, really, all I _do_ need is my robes and wand.”

Mum looked conflicted. “Are you sure? You _do_ so like writing in books, Lyssie…”

“I won’t write in these. Mum, you _have_ some of these. I’ve read them. I’m _not_ going to write in them.”

Annotating books is for further understanding and breakdown of content. There is absolutely no content in these books, so there’s no need to annotate. Simple as that, really, but I wouldn’t be telling Mum that. She’d be heartbroken.

While this was going on, Percy arrived and discovered Errol as he accidentally sat on him, and Ron and Harry were reading a letter from Hermione. There was something about meeting up, and that’s when Mum tuned in again.

“Well, that fits in nicely, we can do and get all your things then, too.” she said happily, and I moved to help her clear the table, “What’re you all up to today?”

Plans were set, and the boys sans Percy went off to play Quidditch; Ginny was too embarrassed to join and I was actual _shit_ at flying (weak body didn’t help), so while my twin went off to do… I dunno, probably write in her diary — which was quickly becoming filled up — I followed Percy into his room and bounced on his bed as he closed the door.

“Did she reply?” I asked innocently.

The _lovely_ thing about being a Seer and your entire family knowing about it was, well, they just _stopped_ hiding things from me. Percy would have, as he did with everyone else, ignored me and locked me out of his room so he could write his _dear_ Penelope; but because I Saw their meeting and everything already, he just didn’t. He trusted me already, of course, and we were each other’s favorite sibling, so that helped. Simply put, he swore me to secrecy, and in return for his trust in me, I would give him advice and try to peek in on their future to see if I could help them out, any.

I helped him a lot, by the way.

“-oh, she’ll blush _real_ hard if you compliment her like that. But don’t spout off about yourself so much, Perce, it’s not gentleman-like. Ladies like a gentleman.” I finished, chuckling at the strange picture we made: I wasn’t even in Hogwarts, but Percy was coming to me for girl problems anyways.

_All Hail the Seer._

He scribbled it down, a smile on his face; the idiot would actually write drafts of his letters to Penelope. His in-a-hurry writing was only a tad less neat than his fancy writing (I was quite jealous, Percy’s handwriting was practically art), but he insisted only the best for her. It was so _fucking_ cute.

Something occurred to me all of a sudden.

“Percy, if I get a boyfriend, are you gonna be the ‘Alright, whatever makes you happy’ type, or the ‘Don’t touch my bloody sister!’ type? Ron’s definitely the latter, the twins will prank him anyways, and Ginny’s the first one.”

(I mean, it’s not like I would — meaningful romantic relationships kind of had an allergic reaction to me, several times, and both of us were traumatized as a result — but still.)

My third eldest brother spluttered, his ink going all over the place.

He turned to me, glaring. “You’re only ten, Lyssie.”

I sniffed. “I’ll be eleven soon!”

Percy’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not to look for a boyfriend until you are, _at least,_ sixteen. I’d rather you be _of age-_ In fact, I’d rather you be twenty, but I won’t be able to do anything when you’re of age, and-“

“Wait, wait, wait. You’re the _overprotective_ type? That’s brilliant!” I laughed, even as Percy looked disgusted at the idea of someone trying to date his sisters. “I _really_ want to see you yell at some poor teenage boy.” Wait. I’d probably fuck up canon relationships somehow. Shit. “Alright, but not for me — boys are icky, anyways — but maybe for Ginny-“

“ _Out of the_ bloody _question!”_

I sat up, wide-eyed. “You _swore_ , Percy.”

He stiffened. “Don’t you dare-“

I was sprinting down the stairs in record time, bursting out the backdoor and up the hill to the makeshift pitch, screaming, “FRED! GEORGE! YOU’LL NEVER BELIEVE WHAT PERCY JUST DID!!!”

 

**…**

 

After the fiasco with Harry having Flooed to Knockturn Alley (not that I told them that, I just said I Saw he’d be fine to calm Mum down), we all seemed to split up; Ginny and I went with Mum to the secondhand robes shop, which was as dreadfully boring as I thought it would be. I suppose it would be in bad taste to slip away just because I couldn’t muster up the shit to give, so I trailed behind Ginny and Mum and listened to the rhythm of the magic-woven clothing.

To my delight, one of the black robes I found had _hidden pockets!_ Not magical or anything, but there were pockets on the inside — perfect for storing snacks and cheat sheets — and I hugged that (and two other passably okay black robes that I would add identical pockets to later) to my chest. Ginny and I both got new cauldrons (“Mum, I can use Charlie’s old one!” “No! Absolutely not, it’s bottom is worn down to a hair’s width!”) and then we came to the wands.

Ginny had gone first, favoring a yew and unicorn hair wand, 8 and 3/4 inches. She huffed impatiently as I was trying my eighth wand, though Mum was trying to get her to stop squirming. But I was now on my twelth wand and the meeting time was coming close... I looked apologetically at Ginny and Mum, who was beginning to get antsy.

“Mum, you go ahead, all right? I know where Flourish and Blotts is.” I said. She looked like she wanted to argue, but I shook my head and laughed. “It’s fine! This way, my wand’ll be a surprise, yeah?”

Mum gave in, worried about the others and trusting in my Seer-induced (according to her) maturity. 

As she and Ginny left, I muttered to Ginny, “Please, for the love of Merlin, don’t let her get me those bloody books. The man’s a creepy menace.”

Ginny giggled and nodded and ran after Mum, and I was left in the dusty dark with a man who was, no doubt, another type of Seer.

I said as much, and Ollivander chuckled.

“I am an Assessor, Miss Weasley,” he explained. Then he looked closely at me, squinting behind his rounded glasses. “Yes, you have also been given a gift of Sight… ah, _two_ if I’m Assessing correctly. Quite rare, that.”

I nodded. “Clairvoyance and Mage Sight.”

He smiled. “I’m afraid I don’t See like you natural-born Soothsayers do, but I _do_ understand things when they’re in front of me, as an Assessor. You have a very fierce protective streak in you, don’t you, Miss Weasley? And much pride, in yourself and those you choose as yours.”

I whistled. “Useful ability. Makes it easier for you to match wands and wizards, I suppose. You’re a learned Soothsayer, then?”

“Indeed, Miss Weasley,” chuckled the aged wandmaker, “Indeed.”

He measured my right arm. “Hm, Clairvoyance _and_ Mage Sight… Like your grandfather, Septimus Weasley — silver lime, dragon heartstring, 13 inches — and your grandmother, Genevieve Prewett — pear, unicorn hair, 10 and 1/2 inches — respectively. Are you very powerful, Miss Weasley?”

I straightened, proud of my power; though it was a secret to everyone but my family — which included my somewhat grandfather-mentor and my heart-sister — and the Assessor before me. “I’ve been Seeing since I was born.” Then I rubbed the back of my neck sheepishly. “It was dangerous when I was younger, less in control. Almost offed Ginny a few times with how I keep Seeing the wars and such.”

“Yet you possess much control now, Miss Weasley. Much control over even more power.” he said, as cryptic as most old men (including Alby). “Tell me, Miss Weasley, do you fear your Sight?”

“It’s a skill like any other.” I said, “I’m only afraid of misusing it. Everything else... I leave it to fate. I like surprises, generally.”

Ollivander smiled at my reply. “I think you will surprise us all, Guinevere Weasley.”

The seventeenth wand was a match.

“Elder wood and dragon heartstring, 12 and 3/4 inches. It is one of the oldest wands I have, Miss Weasley — the dragon I wrested the heartstring from was the most vicious Hebridean Black I’d ever laid eyes on.” Ollivander said, as he handed the wand to me.

I already Saw it was my match yesterday, along with the instinctive _knowing_ I had when I laid eyes on the simple, elegant shaft of dark wood, but I was still elated as sighing heat rushed into my fingers and the magic we cast threw indigo and silver sparks around the shop. Ollivander seemed pleased, and very knowing.

As I handed him the Galleons for my wand, I paused.

“You must be a very powerful Seer,” I said, “if you can hear and see all the colors in these wands. I thought it was dark when I first came in, but I think I it’s probably a rainbow to you.”

Ollivander gave me a knowing smile. “Always nice to meet another of Mage Sight. That is, of course, why I See the magic in these wands so clearly; I developed the ability purely for the sake of my craft. A pleasure, Miss Weasley.”

I walked out from Ollivanders with a wand in my hand and streaks of silver in my core glistening.

As I walked into a very crowded Flourish and Blotts (so it was more like me ducking and weaving than walking), I heard a _very_ familiar drawl:

“Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley... I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for all those.”

Draco Malfoy.

I’d all but forgotten about the fucking ferret; one tends to forget minor annoyances when surrounded by people worth hundreds of their like, I suppose. (Look at that, I was starting to even _think_ more insultingly with the little shit around!) I sighed, smoothly stepping in beside Ginny and announcing with salesman-worthy cheerfulness, thusly interrupting Ron in the middle of his beginning to thrash the little shit:

“Oh, come off it, Ron. If you so much as flick him, I bet he’d go flying into Fortescue’s.” Ron turned to look at me with a little amused smirk at the imagery, and Draco Malfoy’s lip curled into a sneer. “Little lords with too much money aren’t built like you and me; a bad Tickle Hex would rip the silver spoon out of his arse — simultaneously disgusting and painful to look at, like the rest of him.”

I was smiling, but there was a frigidity in my voice that I hoped he heard.

_Do not touch me and mine, little boy,_ I snarled in my head.

(I rather thought me and Dad’s protective instincts were off the charts at this point.)

Harry snorted, and even pink-cheeked Hermione — who I was introduced to in the passing — seemed to be holding back laughter. Ron and Ginny did no such thing, snickering away as the little lordling tried to formulate a response to top mine. He never got the chance, as Dad took the moment to call out to us.

“Ron!” he said, dragging Fred and George along with him, “What are you going? It’s too crowded in here, let’s go outside- you’ve got Lys and Ginny with you? Come on, then.”

“Well, well, well — Arthur Weasley.”

_Oh, I hope he heard what I said to his son._ I thought as Lucius Malfoy came out to play.

“Lucius,” my father greeted stiffly.

“Busy time at the Ministry, I hear. All those raids... I hope they’re paying you overtime?”

I wanted to snarl as his hand came dangerously close to my sister; if it fucking happened again, I’d cut the fucking thing off with an ‘accidentally overpowered’ _Diffindo._ This Death Eating _bastard_. 

My hate for the man only spiked when I remembered all my visions of his war crimes, all the things he’d _done_ to people… He had been one of the _motherfuckers_ that desecrated my Uncle Gideon and Fabian’s bodies, two men I’d never met but admired… But it was important he do this, it was important that this happened, and that was the only thing that was stopping me from attacking him…

“Obviously not.” he muttered after sweeping cold grey eyes over us. “Dear me, what’s the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don’t even pay you well for it?”

“We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy.”

“Clearly.” _I swear that I will one day I will punch him in the nose and laugh as it breaks._ “The company you keep, Weasley... and I thought your family would sink no lower-“

I stiffened as my Sight activated without warning.

_Dad clenched his fists — angry and ready to leap and attack and fight and yell — cool wall of calm slammed down — shut away his anger in his eyes, like walls sliding down gently and locking all the impulsiveness away. Occlumency — calmed him down some — he longed to lunge at Malfoy, his fingers were twitching — lunge? attack? — a fight in the bookshop, knocking shelves over, the crowd gather in excitement — no — he clenched his fists, looking away — hand held by a smaller one, skin tan and palm tiny — pain in my foot just passing and unimportant and I grinned at Dad just a bit later — yes? — Gilderoy Lockhart called by the attention, the ruckus of two pureblood Paterfamiliases fist-fighting on the floor…_

_(_ **_Stop._ ** _)_

Shrugging, I grabbed Dad’s hand.

He looked surprised when I did, and I raised a brow at him. Despite my disappointment that Malfoy Sr. would not get the black eye he would have received, my father would also _not_ get a cut lip and I wouldn’t have to dabble with my wandless magic (newly bonded to my wand, therefore a bit overexcited) to avenge him. I would’ve tripped the blonde little nancy as he left, I think. Sounded fun.

Instead, Dad just replied coldly, “It is not _my_ family that is Dark as mud. Enjoy drowning in the filth you’ve marred the name of wizard in, Lucius.” _Good one, Dad- way to use Occlumency to keep a clear head!_

Lucius Malfoy sneered, nearly tossing Ginny’s book back to her. “Here, girl — take your book — it’s the best your pathetic father can give you.”

It almost hit Ginny in the face, and I lost it. He was a _threat_ , I’d Seen all the deaths and torment he caused in the first war, I’d _Seen_ some of the faces he’d slashed into pieces, some of the minds he’d broken, the Muggles he’d tortured into insanity. I’d Seen the absolute _glee_ on his face when he did things like that, on all the Death Eaters’ faces. I’d Seen the bloody war, I’d lived through short flashes of it. This man was a _monster_ , and he was _too close_ to me and mine. He insulted my absolute favorite person in the world — my call of protection and home, steel and hearth-fire — and he almost hit Ginny — _my sister —_ in the face.

“You might want to watch where you’re throwing things, _sir._ ” I snarled, unable to hold my tongue back with how irritated and on alert I was, “Didn’t your mother ever teach you to be polite to girls?” My eyes widened in mock-surprise. “Ah, wait! Apologies, _Lord_ Malfoy, you wouldn’t know, would you?”

I referred, of course, to the _worst scandal in history_ , when Priscilla Malfoy née Fawley fled her marriage to Abraxas Malfoy and abandoned her then-young son, Lucius. It’s technically unknown where she went, but there used to be rumors that she’d eloped with a Muggle to America because she was afraid of the war. I hadn’t Seen anything of it, but rumors were a danger in pureblood society; more dangerous than truth, sometimes. It would hurt him, and I relished in the twitch in his face as he was reminded of such a weakness.

Mature, no. Well thought-out, no. Satisfying? _Yes._

Malfoy Sr. stiffened and walked away with his son in silent rage. I grinned, until we walked out of Flourish and Blotts, and Dad singled me out and let us lag behind the main group. I should’ve seen it (oh, a pun…) coming, really. 

“You used your Sight didn’t you?” he asked, voice strained.

I nodded, hissing, “That _Death Eater_ wasn’t going to insult us and you, and then almost hurt Ginny-“

“Doesn’t matter, Lys. You _know_ it’s dangerous, you _know_ who Lucius Malfoy is. You know better than all of us, almost. You can’t throw around your ability anymore, Lys, not like at home with us.” Dad said quietly, his voice full of disappointment.

It stung a little, but I understood and nodded guiltily. “Sorry, Dad. It was juvenile insult too...” Then I grinned. “If I were going to throw around my Sight, I should’ve at least made it something that’d make the blonde ponce cry.”

Dad huffed out a chuckle at my olive branch and sighed. “Be careful, Lyssie.”

“I won’t do it again, not without a very good reason — or a wicked insult.”

He ruffled my hair. “If your mother heard, she’d scream herself hoarse at you.”

I glanced at Dad hopefully. “But you won’t tell her, right?”

(Let it never be said that Guinevere Weasley did not have a healthy fear of her mother.)

“Not this time, little queen.”

 

**…**

 

I knew for a fact Dad wouldn’t care, so I stuck around after breakfast, playing with my toast as the rest of my siblings plus Harry trailed out. Mum was humming and I eventually got up to help her clean up, a mix of magic and the Muggle way of doing things. At some point during our washing of the more delicate plates by hand, she looked at me curiously.

“Are you alright, luv?” she asked kindly.

I loved my mother, I did. I felt closer to Dad, though; he just seemed to… well, _understand._ But I did love Mum, she was well-meaning and pampering and fussy and concerned and cheerful and… Well, I couldn’t ask for a better mother, even if she was embarrassing sometimes and treated me like an infant made of glass. 

So it was with hesitancy that I stuttered through my question:

“Well, er... will you mind very much if... if I don’t get Sorted into Gryffindor?”

There was quiet, and then Mum was hurriedly, nearly _frantically_ , telling me that she’d love me no matter what and not to worry because if the old Sorting hat put _Neville Longbottom_ in Gryffindor, I’d get in, too-

She stopped. She studied me. Then she broke out in a warm smile. “You know, dear, that’s a peculiar way of putting it.”

“Putting what?”

“Percy asked me a similar question, you know.” she said, looking at her work and smiling to herself a little, “A bit differently worded. He said, ‘You won’t be disappointed if I don’t get into Gryffindor, will you?’ Not _get Sorted_ but _get in._ ”

I frowned, drying a plate she handed me.

Mum’s eyes were sparkling when she looked at me. “I think, Lys, that you yourself don’t mind at all that you’re not going into our traditional House.”

I slumped a little. “I knew it. You’re a bit disappointed, aren’t you?”

Mum looked at me gently. “I won’t lie, Lys, dear. I would be — but most of all, I’d be happy that you went to a House that was truly yours. I loved Gryffindor, and it’s how I met your father and became the happiest woman in the world… I want you to find something like I did, a place where you’re so happy you hardly know what to do with yourself.”

There was something warm and fuzzy in my chest. I felt faintly embarrassed for some reason.

She chuckled to herself. “Do you remember that talk you had with your father two years back?”

_What’s best for me and mine, what’s fair for everyone else._

I nodded.

Mum smiled. “I didn’t want to interfere, since your father seemed to have had a good hold on the way you think — you, Percy, and Bill have always been like that — but I was there, luv. Don’t you remember what he said? You’re _not_ to sacrifice yourself. Not even for us, Lyssie. Don’t you think that surrounding yourself in a House that isn’t truly yours is a sacrifice?”

“But sacrifices are necessary…”

“My Lys, you have yet to understand how to sacrifice for yourself. I’m so _glad_ you’re so close to your siblings, but Lyssie… Who will it hurt the most if you go into Gryffindor and aren’t happy there?”

_All of you,_ I thought quietly, smiling to myself, _because all of you think about my problems much too much._

“It won’t be bad, if I get in. It just... won’t be good either, I s’pose.”

“Lys, dear, just because we’ve all been in Gryffindor… it doesn’t mean anything. Your brothers will still look after you and I suppose you’ll still look after them, too. Nothing will change but your class schedule, really, and I suppose whether or not your favorite colors will still be my red that you’re always saying.”

I smiled a bit, but faltered... “You’ll still be disappointed, won’t you?”

She kissed my temple quickly, shaking her head. “I’ll be proud. My Lyssie, we always knew you were very different from your brothers and sister. Did you know we didn’t know we were having twins again? Ginny was born and your father came in to look at her, we were both so awed, and imagine my surprise when I gasped in pain 20 minutes later! The Healers were baffled — apparently you’d been hiding from their scans behind your sister, and you very nearly died because you didn’t seem to want to be born that day.”

“And I wasn’t, right? I was born at 12:07 on the 12th, not the 11th.”

Mum laughed gently. “That’s right, luv. Twenty-seven minutes after Ginny. The Healers bodily threw your father out, you know.” Her eyes twinkled at the memory. “Ginny’s birth was easy, but yours, Lys? Oh, you gave me and the Healers quite a bit of trouble. And even after, you were the first of all your siblings to be _so_ aware that young — then your accidental magic when you couldn’t even sit up — and of course, when we found out about your nightmares, dear.”

I nodded, sighing again. “I’m sorry for the trouble, Mum.”

She laughed again. “Oh, Lys, you’re worth every little incident, I promise you that. We all promise you that. We love you too much, don’t you know? And we won’t be surprised, Lys, when you’re Sorted into Slytherin.”

I widened my eyes at her.

Mum smirked, and I saw a little bit of the demon twins in her there. So _she’s_ where they got it from. “Come now, Lyssie, you’ve _always_ been a Slytherin. Don’t think I don’t see your clever pranks and your thirst to strengthen your abilities. You _did_ manage to hide your abilities from us for years, after all, and you’ve always had your brothers and sister twisted around your fingers. I know you’ve even tricked me at times!”

That just got me to grin. Mum dried her hands magically, and her fingers grazed my face affectionately as she studied me with love in her brown eyes.

“Slytherin or Ravenclaw you may be Sorted, luv, but you’ve a heart of gold — being Weasley, you’re already an honorary Gryffindor, and as loyal to us as you are, you’ve the core of a ‘Puff.”

I sighed, beaming at all the praise (which came not un-often, but sandwiched in between warnings of discovery and such), and I hugged my mother. I gave her a kiss on the cheek, whispered a reverent thanks, and then decided to go to the Lovegoods to see if Luna wanted to play. I skipped out the kitchen door-

Into Harry Potter.

Or over him. I tripped over his stretched-out legs, yelping as I hastily broke my fall with my hands.

“Oh, Merlin, sorry! I’m so sorry, Guinevere-“

I laughed a little, waving him off. “It’s fine, it’s fine-“

“No, really, your hand is bleeding, I think it got caught on a stone or something-“

My palm was indeed bleeding, but I thought it would be kinda stupid if I left my parents after such a serious conversation, only to come back and sheepishly ask Mum to heal a little cut. Shrugging, I wiped dirt and rocks out of my skin and beamed at Harry forgivingly.

“It’s _really_ fine, Potter. If you feel that bad, come with me to the brook — I’ll wash it there.”

_Since I’m absolute pants at Healing, with how Dark my core is._

He nodded, looking more than a little guilty, and we walked side-by-side to the woods and towards my and Luna’s favorite spot in the tiny stream. He was quiet and a little awkward, and I sighed to myself; he had too good of a heart, this kid, for what his destiny was.

“I heard you talking. With Mrs. Weasley. I didn’t mean to, obviously, but I _am_ sorry about that. I waited outside before the end ‘cos it was a family thing, but I didn’t want you to not know.”

_Knowing me, I’d’ve dreamt of it sooner or later._

Heat creeped up to my cheeks — that was the _problem_ with having such pale skin, now, wasn’t it? When you blushed you _actually_ blushed... like, your skin changed color and everything! _Never_ had this problem in my old life, dammit. 

Harry seemed to see my embarrassment (of _course_ he did, it was displayed on my fucking face!), and went on to attempt to mollify me with, “I won’t think anything bad of you if you’re in Slytherin, of course. Just because Malfoy the Git is in there doesn’t mean anything.”

I snorted. “Malfoy the Git?”

“Well, yeah, he’s a git, isn’t he?” Harry replied defensively. Then he twiddled his thumbs sheepishly. “Though… is it true you _really_ did accidental magic that early? Er- Hermione researched in the library, and said it’s usually toddlers or something. We didn’t really believe Ron when he said.”

Nodding, I replied easily, “I’ve had bad dreams ever since I was that old. When they get really bad, I wake up and things explode. The last time it happened, all my blankets unraveled and the string was flying around everywhere, and Ginny was _furious_ ‘cos I ripped up all her... books.”

“Books... about me, I reckon.” he muttered.

I giggled at his disgruntled expression. “Yeah, those. Anyways, after that, Mum and Dad — well, just Mum really — went to Alby... er, that is, Headmaster Dumbledore... and they asked him to help me. He helps with lots of things, one of them is subduing my magic so it’s not accidental much.”

“You call Professor Dumbledore _Alby?”_

My face went a little pink; I thought it was funny at the time. “In my defense, I was five!”

Harry laughed, and I chuckled too, glad the tension was gone.

“That’s wicked, that Professor Dumbledore trains you.”

I nodded. I’d have to fib a little, but my family had my cover-story down to an fucking _artform_ , really. “My core was really large for my age — it’s a bit more manageable now — and that’s why my bouts of accidental magic were violent. Alby just meant to help me keep it contained, but it had the added effect of letting me manipulate magic more easily.” _Being a natural-born Soothsayer and a Clairvoyant also helps a lot._

Harry looked intrigued. “Does that mean you can do magic right now?”

Giving a grin, I mentally pushed my indigo-silver hues into the wind and the grass. It hummed in pleasure, soft and sweet. Blades of faded green grass rose up and twirled around us, and a cool breeze swept through our messy hair. Harry’s eyes widened in awe as he looked at the grass spinning, and I felt his own peacock-esque colors ripple with amazement and eagerness. That was cute; he still so enamored with magic.

(I mean, I was, too… But not as much as Harry Potter, here.)

“It ties into wandless magic, you know.” I said, guiding a leaf to poke him in the nose gently, “You should learn, too. At least how to summon things. So you can always summon your wand back if you’re disarmed. It’s the first thing I tried to learn.”

He smiled at me, excitement lighting his eyes. “Will you teach me?”

I raised a brow. “Potter, really. You don’t mind that I’m younger than you and probably a Slytherin?”

Harry shrugged. “What does it matter? For either of them, I mean. But you’ve got to stop calling me ‘Potter,’ I start thinking of Malfoy and, ergh, _Snape_ when you do.”

Laughing, I nodded and let my indigo-silver retreat back into my core. “Then I think you’ve earned the right to call me Lys, don’t you think? With that, you can call me Lys, Lyssie, and the twins’ve taken to calling me Lyssiekins for some reason, and I _really_ hope you don’t copy them.”

He snorted. “Nah, I think I’ll stick with Lys. Er... can I ask you questions, still? About magic and stuff. You seem to know a lot about it. I’d ask Hermione, but then she’ll just… well, she, er, explains this complicatedly and gets mad when I don’t catch on as quick as she does. And I’d ask Ron, but sometimes he forgets that I wasn’t wizard-raised, I think.”

I rolled my eyes. We’d reached the brook and I sighed as I dipped my hand in the babbling water, cleaning the wound. “Ron’s an idiot. I love him to death, but he’s an idiot. I love questions. What d’you wanna know?”

“How do you train wandless magic?”

I hmmm’ed a little, flicking the water off my hand but beginning to peel off my shoes and socks and rolling up my jeans. “It’s a little different for everyone…” Depending on the core allegiance, actually. “-but to start, you have to find your core.”

“My core?”

“Your magical core. Most everyone finds it through a _lot_ of meditation.” _Unless you’ve got Mage Sight or you’ve got someone with Mage Sight to guide you — lucky you, Potter._ “Magic flows through your body just like blood, y’know? Your core is sort of like its heart; it _stores_ and _creates_ magic, though, which is a bit different.”

“Can it overflow?”

“The core? Yeah, ‘course it can — that why my own accidental magic was violent and dangerous. I said my core was too big, but it’s just a saying; what it really means is my magic was being produced too quickly for my body to spend it — as energy or just the natural outflow into the air and earth — so it was overflowing and when it had the chance to get out, it flooded.”

“We spend our magic naturally?”

“Mm-hm. You’re getting into the mechanics of magic, which is a study in and of itself, mind, but yeah. It’s like... breathing, a little. We take in the ambient magic around us, let it flow through our core, and we take barely the tiniest fraction into our core, just as it takes the same amount _out_ of our core again.”

“What if we take too much in or it takes too much out?”

_Asking smart questions is always a sign of intelligence,_ I thought fondly. I’d always been convinced that Harry was a pretty average kid, and grew into his destiny. But with his colors and these little signs of something more than that… Well, it was good to see.

“Well, that’s what you call a magic disease or sometimes a curse.” I replied, inordinately pleased that I was tutoring Harry Potter in magical theory, “It’s _the_ tiniest fraction, really. But sometimes, if you’re around someone or someplace or something long enough, you exchange magic enough, both your cores will change and resemble each other. Erm… the best analogy I have is colors.” _Totally cheating here._ “Everyone has their own color. You bleed them all over the place, which doesn’t really change anything, but if you’re connected to something or someone long enough… your colors mix.”

Harry hummed thoughtfully. “Is that what happens with wands, then? Your, er, colors match and it decides you’re its master ‘cos of that?”

_I fucking love smart people. It’s like a breath of fresh air._

“Alby says that wands are special.” I had asked him right after I’d gotten my elder and dragon heartstring, actually. “Their ‘colors’ are dull, like hibernating or something similar, until they’re in the presence of a compatible witch or wizard; however, it’s only their _master_ that they’ll exchange colors with — and unlike most places/people/things, the exchange is immediate ‘cos the wand core basically bonds with the magical core.”

I laughed a little, remembering Dumbledore explaining this.

“It’s why wandmakers bloody _hate_ working with dragon heartstring — the core changes its allegiance like _shoes_ , really, it really fuc- er, _messes_ _up_ your core when it does. If a wand changes its allegiance at all, any core, _that’s_ why you feel so... well, empty when it happens. It takes back its colors as payment, almost.”

Harry raised a brow. “And you don’t get your own colors back?”

“Nope. That’s what makes the Elder Wand so _strong._ It’s been passed down and through so many wizards, it’s core is _disgustingly_ powerful. Or so I theorize anyways; oh Merlin, sorry, you don’t know what the Elder Wand is, do you?”

Harry shook his head.

I slapped my forehead. “I just pulled a Ron. Bloody hell, what a nightmare.”

He laughed, and it was only then that I realized he’d copied me and rolled up his baggy jeans and taken off his shoes and socks to dip his ankles in the little river. He was in the same spot Luna usually sat in. I’d have to talk to her later, since this was a rare opportunity to rant about some of my favorite theories with someone who was genuinely interested. (Luna was interested, of course, but she was distracting; honestly, she’ll say something about her creatures and then it derails everything, which I don’t mind all that much, but still.)

We were peacefully quiet for a bit, and I think Harry was comfortable with it as I was. Knowing my brother, Harry was always pestered into goofing off and playing chess or something with Ron; and knowing Hermione Granger, he was always pressured into homework or studying with her. The kid probably needed a breather from time to time; maybe I’d be able to help, getting him away from Gryffindor every now and then, giving him some peace of mind.

Quietly, he started:

“You could ask the Hat to put you wherever you want, you know.”

I know for a _fact_ that Harry’d never admitted that to anyone until his youngest son in the Epilogue. Goddamn me and my shitting on canon. 

(In spite of this, I felt touched and happy that Harry would admit this kind of secret to me.)

He went on, “At least, er, it did for me. It wanted to put me in Slytherin, but I’d just met _Malfoy_ so... I asked it to put me anywhere else.”

“Yeah, if I were your age, I’d beg to be anywhere else.” I snickered.

He nudged my shoulder. “But really, Lys, if you want to… you can. I think you’d be a brilliant Slytherin, though! Er, from what Ron tells me and from this summer and all. Hermione’s always going on about me and Ron’s prejudice against the snakes, especially Snape and Malfoy, but I bet you’d make everyone like Slytherin again.”

I laughed at the high praise, face warming — just a little — again. “You’re a flatterer, Harry! No _wonder_ Ginny’s over the moon for you!”

He blushed and scratched the back of his head. “I’m serious! And if anyone’s a git about it, I’ll help your brothers hex them for you. Hermione will help you, she _loves_ learning and you know lots of things.”

“Oh, so I become a walking book for Miss Ganger and she protects me? Rather even trade-off, I think. I’ll take that deal.” I laughed.

Suddenly, Harry stilled.

“Bloody- I just outed the secret to you!” he blurted out, glaring ahead incredulously; he turned to me quickly. “Don’t tell any of the first-years about the Sorting Hat! Don’t tell anyone you know! I’ll be lynched for it!”

I burst out laughing. “You won’t be _lynched!_ Good Merlin, Harry, it’s _fine._ ”

“No it’s not! I just broke tradition!”

“So will I. A Weasley Slytherin, really _._ But don’t worry, Harry, I don’t snitch. That is, as long as you do a favor for me.”

He side-eyed me suspiciously. “ _Now_ you’re acting like a Slytherin.”

I grinned. “Takes one to know one.”

“I’m not a Slytherin.”

“The Hat would disagree. Anyways, my favor?”

He muttered under his breath, but waited for my request.

“Look after Ginny for me, okay?” Harry blinked owlishly, looking confused. I elaborated, “She… she’s a bit immature and she won’t understand. Ron will after a bit of hedging, but… well, Gin and I _are_ twins, and even if we’re different, she loves following me around… it’ll really make her sad when we’re not in the same House. I’ll always try to talk with her and support her, but it’ll be hard when I’m a snake and she’s a lion. So… keep an eye on her? You and Ron?”

Harry gave me a warm look and a nod. “Heart of a Hufflepuff, yeah?”

I laughed, nodding. “You bet. Anyways, we should go back. Ron and the twins are probably looking for you, and Ginny and Percy for me.”

I already scooped up my shoes and socks and was padding through the grass when Harry called out:

“You’re a good person, Lys.”

Turning, I smirked. “Only when I want to be. _Last one back has to sit next to Percy!”_

He gasped and I got my head start, and we raced back to the Burrow, and I sat next to Percy anyway. It wasn’t much of a punishment in my case, really.

 

**…**

 

_Hello, T.M. Riddle._

_Hello. Who is this?_

_That would be telling._

_And yet you know my name and I’m ignorant of yours? Telling of your manners, I think._

A startled laugh. Good Merlin, I couldn’t believe it… “What a sassy Dark Lord!” I muttered, grinning to myself. I wanted this moment in a Penseive or something. I put the quill to the journal again:

_Well, I’m anything but rude. I think you’ll look down on me for my name, though._

_And why is that?_

_My family is made up of bloodtraitors._

_Ah. I wouldn’t judge you for that, though. You seem an intelligent girl._

_What gave it away? That I’m a girl, that is. Is it my handwriting? I’ll have you know I learned from my quite male brother, he’s a calligraphy master in spite of the bloodtraitor thing._

_Haha! Oh, but you_ are _amusing. No, it was just a hunch._

_Excellent. I love meeting sentient objects with intelligence enough to form their own hunches. You aren’t Dark or anything, are you? Dad’s been doing raids on Dark artifacts, I bet he’d string me up if I had one resting in my pocket._

_I’m not Dark. Grey, mostly. I’m just a memory._

And I’m Pansy Parkinson. HA! This liar. The bloody bastard wasn’t going to trick ME, that’s for sure. He might’ve gotten Ginny — he _would_ have gotten Ginny — since she empathized with things that were misunderstood a lot. It’s why she was friends with Luna now, I think? (That happened rather abruptly, actually, now that I think of it.)

_Good, I’ve been starved for intelligent conversation. My whole family is being cold to me because I asked them if they’d hate me if I wasn’t sorted into Gryffindor. D’you think they’ll get over it if my marks are good?_

_Perhaps. But you haven’t told me your name, Miss._

_Oh, right. Promise you won’t look down on me for it?_

_Promise._

_Guinevere Lysandra Weasley._

_A pleasure, Guinevere. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my diary?_

A smirk. “Let the games begin.”

 

 

 

**END OF ARC ONE ::** **THE PREAMBLE**

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So... I started my new job yesterday. I worked for seven bloody hours, then went to classes for six hours straight afterwards. I'm... really sad. I'm really sad.
> 
> But! RPR must go on. Even if I have much less time to write now. This here's where Hogwarts starts and my OC's really start crawling out of the wood work. Thanks to all who kudos-ed/commented/bookmarked, and I highly encourage those who have not to do so, because it makes me feel very much less sad.
> 
> Anyways. Enjoy!

 

**…**

 

Mum smothered me in a hug, sobbing her eyes out as she said goodbye to me and Ginny. I hugged her back as best I could, laughing a little.

“Mum, it’s okay! We’ll be back before you know it!”

“Yeah, Mum, and we’ll write lots! Lyssie’s written to Bill and Charlie once a month since they left, of _course_ she’ll write to you.” Ginny added, trying to get Mum to latch off me so we could get on the Express.

She sniffled, pulling back (finally). “I c-can’t believe you’re going to H-Hogwarts already! Both of you! My little girls, all grown up a-and going to _Hogwarts!”_

“Maybe you should get a kneazle, Mum,” Ginny said hopefully, “So you won’t be lonely at home.”

I laughed, grinning at Ginny. “You just want a kneazle, Gin.”

“Can you blame me? They’re cute.”

“I like dogs better. Why don’t you get a dog, Mum? They’re very cuddly. Cats are evil little pricks.”

Ginny made an offended noise.

Mum laughed at us. “You two take care of each other, okay? I was so worried… Your father and I thought you’d be joined at the hip, like Fred and George, and when you weren’t we thought… Well, I’m glad you’re closer now. Be good, please?”

I shot a wicked grin at Mum. “You mean, ‘Don’t raise hell like the demon twins’? We can try.”

“Oh, you! Go on, then, onto the train!”

Laughing, I cast a wandless Featherlight Charm on my trunk — an old battered thing, but very full of character, all covered in patches and such — and did the same for Ginny, who beamed at me in thanks. But Percy whisked my trunk from my hands, having decided to stick with us for a bit because we were going to Hogwarts for the first time, and I smiled at his timely intervention.

Ginny’s colors were bright maroons and carmines, with soft pale-pinks and candy-reds on the fringes. Her flowers were like that too, flashing with color in between deep green leaves and spring-colored stems. She blinked as I set it on her brow just right, going as far as to start braiding little locks and twisting them in with the flowers elegantly.

I smirked. “You didn’t think I wouldn’t make one for you, did you?”

But then Ginny’s wide-eyed look disappeared and she smirked. “You too, Lys.”

All of a sudden, the twins whirled me around and Mum shoved a crown onto my head, and I was too stunned to react. Mum leaned down to kiss me on the cheek and whispered into my ear, “You’ll make me proud, Lyssie. You always have. If your father were able to make it, he’d say the same thing. No doubt he’ll send a letter along soon.” Then standing back she said aloud to all of us, “Make sure you write! Percy, Fred, George, look after your sisters — when you find Ron, tell him he’s going to get the scolding of a lifetime for hiding away on the train from me!”

(Everyone earlier had been baffled by the disappearance of Ron and Harry — “Weren’t they right behind us?” — but I told them not to worry too much about it... though I whispered a small apology to Mum and told her not to ask. She’d simply sighed. Poor Mum. She'd have to get Ron a new wand after this adventure and everything.)

Fred and George snickered. “Of course, Mum-”

“-wouldn’t _dream_ of crossing _you_ , Mum!”

We were ushered onto the train and Percy and Fred carried our things, and I made it easier for all of us with wandless Featherlight Charms. (Simple enough, it was a Grey magic; much of the Hogwarts curriculum was Grey, actually, as I’d discovered; it was so that every core allegiance had a chance to learn at equal opportunity.) I was searching for Luna, myself, and we finally found her sitting alone at the end of the train; our trunks were put up and our brothers left, and then it was just us three. Ginny and I stuck our flowery heads out the window to wave goodbye to Mum, who would be all alone in the house for the first time in _forever._

I wasn’t sure what was _quite_ going on with Luna and Ginny, but I thought they were okay now (though Ginny still sometimes gave Luna strange looks and often turned to speak to me rather than her). Eventually, though, Gin settled down for a nap — she’s stayed up all night, too excited about Hogwarts to sleep — and I scooted closer to Luna, grinning. Her wide blue eyes widened impossibly further when I crowned her in silver and bluebells.

“I thought this was a tradition for your family?” she asked quietly.

“That’s right.”

She gave me a dazzling smile. “I suppose I’m a fairiefiddle now, too?”

“Are me and my siblings fairiefiddles?”

“No, just you. And Percival and Mr. Weasley of course. It’s in your ears, you see. You’ve got moon bee footprints kissing your earlobes.”

“And so do you!” I said brightly, interpreting this as a compliment, and perhaps as a categorizing of our colors. Me, Percy, Dad, and Bill (though Luna never met him) had dominating shades of blue as our colors. “Though, this fairiefiddle’s got to visit the loo — I’ll be back, alright, Luna?”

“Don’t run into any Heliopaths. Sometimes they hide in corners.”

“I won’t.”

The loo was prettier than any train bathroom had the right to be, and I deviated from my straight-path back to the compartment to wind Percy and the demon twins. I entered a few compartments with older years that were friendly; three pretty girls that introduced themselves as Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell, and Alicia Spinnet looked at me with recognition.

“Ah! You’ve got to be Guinevere, aren’t you?”

As much as the cooing annoyed me, I was curious when they introduced themselves and explained their knowledge as gossip from the demon twins — the best two Beaters in decades, they said. I asked how they knew I was Guinevere and not Ginevra, and they laughed.

“Fred always brags about how he’s a master hairdresser. Your hair’s almost as bad as Harry’s-” _A gross over-exaggeration, dammit, my hair is_ fine! “-and I saw Fred and George practicing their flower-weaving for you. They would only use blue and purple flowers, those sentimental babies.”

_Oh. So that’s why they grilled me on the colors of our family last summer._

My blush was shown so _obviously_ on my face and the girls smiled.

“You and Ginny are the Weasley princesses, you know.” Alicia Spinnet said kindly, “Even Percival gushes on about you. You’ll find him a few compartments down, and the twins a bit further, by the way. We’ll stop teasing you.”

“Though firsties are fun to tease,” added Angelina with a wink.

I laughed, likening those three to big sister figures (not quite of the mine category, of course), and went off to find Percy. I thought he’d probably by the prefect compartment, but maybe he went to check in on Penelope first. My brother was different from the canon character in that he was willing to break rules, if it was for someone important enough.

(I had a funny feeling that Percy was the type that would burn Europe down for those he loved.)

(Maybe it was a fairiefiddle thing? Luna might be on to something here.)

“Oy! Youngest Weasley!”

I turned to come face-to-face with a Hufflepuff upperclassman. I raised a brow. “What gave it away? The red hair? Or the shortness? Don’t tell me it was both.” _I know why I’m the only short Weasley but it’s still mildly annoying to have everyone lord it over me. *cough cough FRED AND GEORGE cough*_

He grinned — he was certainly going to be a looker in a year or two — and shook his head in amusement. “Everyone knows about your flower tradition. Guinevere Weasley, right? Fred and George moved compartments — they’re near me — poked their heads in to tell us to tell you if you stopped by, but you already had.”

“Oh. Well, thanks. Lead the way, then?”

“Of course. I’m Cedric, by the way. Cedric Diggory. Not sure if you remember me.”

The Diggorys lived close to the Lovegoods and Weasleys; in the early years, there’d be playdates and stuff. I was never one for those, though, and by the time the demon twins went to Hogwarts they found other friends and pretty boy here found his. They drifted, and I honestly forgot about the boy, with all the other things I had to focus on.

Until now. Bloody happy teenagers and their happy smiles.

_Kill the spare._

“Thanks, Diggory.” I said, nodding.

_Fucking Voldemort, no visions! Occlumency! Occlumency!_

He smiled. “No problem, littlest Weasley.”

After I’d paid my hello’s to Fred and George and Percy (in that order), I came back to find Ginny in a one-way glaring match with a serene Luna, and endeavored the rest of the train ride to bridge the gap. No doubt Ginny was a bit upset about Luna having a crown — despite the fact Ginny’s was more elaborate — and was trying her best to show displeasure in a passive way.

Luna was really gracious about it, though, and I vaguely wondered how they had become friends in canon. (They had, right?)

A few hours of nervous excitement and lots of chatter, and the sun began to set. The sky was all fire again, not nearly as pretty as the desert dusks that I used to see everyday back in my first life, but close. The colors reminded me of Ron, and I wondered if he and Harry’d passed us in the fantastic Ford Anglia.

Percy dropped by at one point, telling us to get into our uniforms, and the sun sank and we did.

The train shuddered to a stop, and we trailed out and then there it was.

_Hogwarts._

It all went according to what I expected, but still surprising me with the sheer realness of it all. The boats glided across the water, Luna, Ginny, a girl called MacDougal, and I in one boat. Looking in the water as it reflected the lights of Howgarts, I could believe I was sliding across a particularly golden-starred sky. It was fucking beautiful, Hogwarts, and I almost started crying because I had waited for this moment for 19 years.

The towers rose above the dark roofs, flags of some sort fluttering from their pointed tips. There was that large, tall bridge that spanned a gap in between the huge mountain-hill that the castle was built on. Its arches were thin and straight, barely visible in the dark. It was the lights that drew our attention, their pinprick-size telling of just _how huge_ the castle was. The lake was dark and huge and we were just a tiny fleet in its sheer size.

My hand twitched, and I let my Soothsayer Soothing spell go, I didn’t even mind the vertigo that came when I realized how the castle was singing.

I’d never heard it or seen the golden-white colors. It was a choir of magic, welcoming new and old students in. The golden magic swirled and danced, slipping into others’ colors easily and breathing life into them. I felt like I could understand the humming and singing, something bright and lively and home: _welcomewelcomelovehomeyoustudentsprotectprotectlovelovehome…_

The vertigo was too much eventually, and I cast my _Dī-konden An-drixtā_ again before we exited the boats. We walked up as a cluster of anxious first-years, even the obviously pureblood ones (they were trying to look bored and failing utterly). The Great Hall’s doors were closed now, but I heard the din of voices inside faintly. We were told to wait here, for McGonagall, no doubt. I squeezed Ginny’s hand tightly, comfortingly.

“What’s with the flowers?” asked MacDougal; she’d been eyeing us the entire boat ride and now that we were inside decided to ask about it.

Ginny grinned at me proudly. “They’re a Weasley family tradition. My sister makes them, but we all made her’s. Probably why is isn’t quite as neat as mine and, er, Luna’s are.”

Someone spoke curiously, “What are they for?”

“Are you _blind_ , Harper?”

“Can’t you feel the magic in them?”

“-Beltane ritual-”

“-powerful magic, isn’t it-”

“What’s Beltane?”

“You’re a Mudblood for sure, then-”

“-no need for that, mate, come on now-”

It was ridiculous, but when a severe-looking woman with dark green robes and a ramrod-straight back showed up, we all shut our mouths. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun, a traditional witch’s hat perched on her head neatly. Just her presence cowed us into silence.

A speech about Sorting, whatever. Ginny was indignant that Fred and George _and Ron_ had been trying to trick her into thinking it was a magical test, where they’d put our most treasured things in danger and see if our accidental magic would save whatever it was. She’d been fearful of her diary and new wand, especially. I have _no_ idea where that came from, or why they wanted to scare her so much, but I’d kept silent and was smirking unrepentantly as she looked at the famous Sorting Hat.

It wasn’t until McGonagall called out, “Weasley, Ginevra!” that I let her hand go.

(Luna had, of course, gone dreamily into Ravenclaw.)

My big sister trembled as she walked down to the Sorting hat, her crown having been slipped off after the boats and clutched in her hands — it was a good thing I sheared off all the thorns of the roses or she’d be in a lot of pain right now, if she wasn’t too nervous to ignore it.

“GRYFFINDOR!” as expected; I beamed at her just as I did to Luna, who was sitting at the Ravenclaw table and looking very unfocused.

“Weasley, Guinevere!”

As I walked down, trying not to let my nerves get the best of my rational mind, I looked at Professor McGonagall and grinned in delight. Another flick of my fingers, and I was concentrating on her ghostly core. Her colors were leaning more towards violet than indigo, and rather than my darkened edges hers were green, but she seemed very similar and familiar to my own indigo-silver-blue. 

She smiled warmly at me (no doubt expecting another addition to her House) and motioned for me to take my own crown off, to be replace by the hat in her hand.

“Oh, sorry, Professor!” I said laughed, giddy with excitement, “Shall we exchange, then?”

With no further ado, I swept my magnificent flowers off my dark crimson hair and placed it gently on McGonagall’s greying brown (though she was much taller than me, she had leaned forward to place the Sorting Hat on my head and it was just enough for me to reach). I grinned as she smiled and only grazed her fingers across the flowers before simply standing in wait, hands folded in front of her and a crown of my colors on her head. I sat on the stool before her, greeting the Hat amiably.

_Hello,_ I said mentally.

**_Minerva has never been so pleasantly surprised at a Sorting,_** it replied in my head.

_She’ll be rather un-pleasantly surprised when you Sort me, though._

**_You don’t believe you’ll be a Gryffindor?_**

_I… Oh. Can you not get through my Occlumency barriers?_

**_I could, but it would be rather rude. Impressive Occlumency, especially for your age. Would you allow me entrance?_ **

_As long as everything you see and hear is confidential._

**_Of course._**

So I lowered my Occlumency shields, and closed my eyes. I traced the Sorting Hat’s progress through my head; it was less than a second, really, but it felt like forever. It — he? — was diving into my organized mind with practiced ease. I had no doubt he was forming judgements already, based on my memories.

**_Interesting_ , **it said as it finished processing my mind, **_though I have no doubt that you know where you belong. You have had this suspicion since your previous life, haven’t you?_**

_A suspicion. I thought maybe my Gryffindor family tempered it out of me, though._

**_You were born into this world with a fully developed personality, Miss… Weasley? Or should I call you-_**

_Weasley, please. Guinevere Lysandra Weasley is who I am._

**_As you so desire, Miss Weasley. A woman named for a queen. And a queen’s ransom you posses — you’ve certainly been gifted in this life. A Clairvoyant_ and _a Soothsayer? Incredible luck._**

_Is it luck?_

**_Or is it fate?_**

_I was hoping you’d know. Everyone always makes you out to be some wise old thing, some sort of... all-knowing entity._

**_I am just a conduit for Sorting, I’m afraid, Miss Weasley._ ** It sounded almost tired when it said this. I couldn’t manage to bring up any surprise — it was as old as the school, and not nearly as protected. Children grabbed and groped its once-fine cloth, and now it was nearly in tatters and barely anyone knew that it once donned the face of the Lion Founder. Old and all but forgotten.

An itch in my head. I let the vision flit through my mind, and I knew the Hat saw it too.

I smiled. 

_You are a bit more than that, I think. An echo of Godric Gryffindor... a secret Assessor, as powerful as Ollivander. More so, of course. Godric Gryffindor didn’t use his Sight just for his art, if he had any._

Hm. Was I Seeing this correctly?

**_Haha! Yes, indeed. You’ve trained your Sight well, young one. You’ve done everything you could to gain more power — knowledge, resources, even the connections you make._**

My eyes narrowed underneath the hat’s brim. Was this some sort of test? Would it judge me based on my answer, even as it poked through the contents of my brain? Fucker. 

_My friendships with Luna and Harry are not products of ambition. I will_ never _pretend something as important as love._

**_Oh? And yet you conceal your status as a realized reincarnation._**

_It changes nothing!_ I thought viciously, my grip on the stool seat tightening my knuckles to white, _I am who I’ve been since the day I was born. Just because I was a the middle child of Muggle parents once doesn’t mean I am not the youngest daughter of Arthur and Molly!_

**_...I know your mind, young reincarnation. Does it surprise you, Miss Weasley, that you are not the first reincarnation that has worn me?_**

I tensed. Another reincarnation? I’d read a story, once, about a reincarnation in Voldemort’s time — they almost fucked everything up with their shit. What if they had changed something, changed the Horcruxes, changed their locations? Shit, _shit_ , _shit!_ What if they were out there in the Hogwarts crowd NOW, looking for me? I had to be careful-

**_They are long dead now. But they changed much in this world, they helped shape the Ages, just as you mean to do. You play a dangerous game._**

_It’s not dangerous if I keep my head down._ I replied sullenly. It was like no one trusted me, honestly.

**_You mean to play God._**

I bristled at the implication. _I am NOT a god. I am a human, a selfish being. I_ mean _to do my best for me and mine, and do what’s fair for everyone else._

I had the feeling that the Sorting Hat smiled at those words. He was no doubt perusing through my memories and bypassing the Occlumency barriers I’d built. Watching events from both my lives, watching visions of every time and place and person I’d seen. I flinched as he dug up the face of Voldemort.

**_Your heart is in the right place. You were thrown into this world without reason or rhyme, but you’ve done your best not to charge into Fate, but work within and around it — to manipulate its flow through gentle ripples rather than strong-armed splashes._**

_A Slytherin approach._ I reasoned, smiling; there were whispers in the Hall because we’d been speaking for so long. The Hat seemed to know it was running out of time, and I knew he’d send me to the snakes soon.

**_Indeed. You know... you have very Gryffindor-like qualities. Godric would like your sense of honor to those who show you honor in kind, your determination to protect yours, and your bravery in the face of a world new to you and a fate unkind to those you love. I would not mind sending you forth as a Lion._**

For a moment, I could See it. The call of Gryffindor, the roar of the Lions in welcome of the last Weasley. Ginny would be tearing up, so happy to be with me again — she was worried because I’d taken so long. The twins would dance around me, and Percy would smile and give me another hug. Red and gold would surround me, warm colors, and slowly my magic would brighten into a magenta over the years. I would be able to keep tabs on the Trio and my family easily, and I would be able to spit insults with the Slytherins and feel justified as the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws approved. 

An easy seven years, surrounded by people who loved me.

Yet... as it was and would’ve been, Slytherin would fade into Darkness and the netrual children — the neutral _families_ — would have no choice but to bow to the Dark Lord. No escape, no outlet into the Light to possibly change sides. Maybe this was idealistic, hoping that I could draw a bit of the good Dark out — because Dark and evil were _not_ the same thing, obviously — but it wasn’t like this choice was entirely unselfish.

I would grow, but I’d grow slowly; there are so many things that need attention. Ginny would suffer under my shadow (for it was a large shadow), and I would coddle her, rationalizing it as protection. As much as I loved my family, I _was_ a grown-woman that valued her independence; in Gryffindor, I’d be famous as the most-sheltered Weasley, and treated accordingly.

It would be a comfortable seven years. An _easy_ seven years. Surrounded by family and quietly influencing things — my voice might be lost as I forgot how to fear. I might be lost in the brightness of the red and gold.

Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, was the saying. Because if you held your enemies at arm’s length, you’d forget about them — that’s why Draco Malfoy was able to take Hogwarts in the sixth book.

(Besides. I love feeling powerful.)

_But I would be able to accomplish my goals through Slytherin, wouldn’t I?_

**_Yes. You would grow exponentially under the banner of the snake. I am no Seer, Miss Weasley, but you are quite a reactive, balancing person. Surrounded by cunning, you will become the most cunning of them all._**

_Then you know where I’m going. It was good talking with you._

**_Likewise. A warning, however. Speak to me privately, in Albus’ office. There are answers I hold to the questions you ask. Come see me again, Guinevere Weasley, when the summer months return._**

_Why?_

**_I will explain then. Good luck, Miss Weasley._**

“SLYTHERIN!”

The Slytherins were silent as I stood and smiled at a stunned McGonagall. The entire Great _Hall_ was silent, really, but I saw Alby’s eyes twinkling with mirth behind those glasses, and Snape’s face pale even further as I approached the table of Snakes. When I glanced at the Gryffindor table, Percy looked resigned and even a bit knowing, the twins looked _flabbergasted_ , Ginny looked horrified, Hermione looked a bit curious and confused… And Ron and Harry still weren’t here. Must be because they crashed into the Whomping Willow. I’d think about them later. At the Slytherin table, there were open mouths; wide enough to catch flies, really.

I smirked. Breaking brains already, and I was just barely Sorted. This was going to be fun.

 

**…**

 

“Is this _honestly_ happening?” sneered the little ferret, backed by henchman no. 1 and no. 2, “Has the greatest House in Hogwarts _really_ lowered itself to accept pathetic _bloodtraitors?”_

My indigo-silver flickered with irritation; there was something very unsettling about seeing your least favorite character growing up actually being alive now. It didn’t help that he was the spitting image of his father, and I hated his fucking father.

“Are you _honestly_ blind? Has the Malfoy family’s inbreeding _really_ produced an heir with such a physical deformity- Oh, wait, sorry, that’s just the way your face looks, isn’t it?”

There was a smattering of nervous laughter from the lower years and snorts from the upper years, whose gleaming, calculating eyes watched the exchange with interest. Slytherin dorms were in the dungeons, dark and cozy to my life-crossing nyctophilia; green lights hung from dark chains and the windows, black criss-cross lattice and thick glass, were tinged with the green of the lake. Everything looked high-class and expensive and to a lesser soul it might be described as _cold._

_I loved it._

“You’d better watch yourself, _Weasley._ My father is of infinitely higher station than _yours;_ step out of line and you’ll find your pathetic family in a hovel — not that you wouldn’t be used to it, of course.”

I felt anger surge in my stomach, a red-hot ball of iron, but I slammed my Occlumency barriers down on it and mentally shushed the bristled edges of my indigo-silver magic, its humming more like hissing. Stupid little baby Malfoy.

_No one insults my father, fucking brat._

“Careful there, Malfoy — I’m not sure if little boys with Daddy-complexes can afford to make idiots of themselves arguing with even littler girls. Though... knowing you, I suppose when you write back to Daddy-dearest you’ll honestly feel _proud_ that you could verbally spar an eleven-year-old.”

_Bet it’s a surprise,_ I thought, smirking at his barely pinking cheeks, _to suddenly be accosted with someone you really can’t measure up to. Ergh, but I feel like I’m bullying him — I’m bloody thirty years old, dammit!_

“Might want to step back, little Malfoy,” some older year — a Slytherin prefect — said, her brown eyes glinting with amusement, “This one’s got a wit of razor and an even sharper tongue.”

Malfoy acquiesced in the saving presence of an upperclassman, and the girl stepped up to me, smiling a cruel little smirk.

“Nice to see a witch who knows what she’s doing. Josephine Zabini, sixth year prefect.” she introduced herself with a courteous pureblood bow.

I returned it, grinning at her. She was dark-skinned and curvy, beautiful in every way with her black hair straightened into silk; but her colors were fierce but cool (now that I wasn’t in the Great Hall, I just wrestled my Mage Sight down to translucent wisps of color), and I could See her liking of the fierce little first year that dared to stand up to idiot boys who thought they owned the place. She was in my shoes once, and she had a hard time of it... Now, though? She was the queen of her yearmates.

I think I found my first potential ally.

“Guinevere Weasley. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Zabini.”

“Likewise. Now hush, firstie, our Head of House is about to enter.”

She wasn’t wrong, and I stood with my _tiny_ year cluster to listen at attention. Severus Snape billowed in, his robes amazingly not using magic to do so. He rolled his eyes over the first years (seven boys and only one girl — guess who?), sneered a little, then began to speak.

He was pale and dour and cold, just as I imagined, and I found he was a stunning doppelganger of his movie-counterpart. Though his hair was greasier, he was a bit thinner and taller, and there were scars all over his hands, most likely from potions.

“You have been placed into the House of Salazar Slytherin, the House of cunning, survival, pride, and power. As members of this House, you will be viewed by all others in suspicion, fear, and most importantly, _envy._ As such, for the duration of your seven years at this school — under my responsibility — you will show unity to those who would fear you and lash out in the name of their pitiful justice. What trifling arguments and little rivalries you carry within the House, _stay_ within the House; before the rest of the school dunderheads, you present a united front... this rule is _not negotiable.”_

Obsidian eyes passed over me and Malfoy, and I nodded slightly. I wouldn’t be able to do anything to him when there were non-Slytherin eyes on us, but if he so much as _touched_ my siblings or Harry or Luna, _there was nowhere in this school he could hide._ I hope I conveyed that enough with a tilt of my head. Satisfied with our near imperceptible agreement of truce, the Potions Master went on:

“The only rules you will strictly be expected to adhere to are _mine._ Tutoring schedules and extracurricular activities are posted on the Commons notice board. Prefects will escort first years to and from classes for the first week; you will be expected to memorize your schedule by the end. There will be no mixing of dormitories — the left corridor will house _only females_ and the right _only males._ Do not think I will not know. You will adhere to the punishments of your prefects and _potesta_ leaders, and inform me personally of any punishments given by others — I will _not_ be pleased if this happens. Outside of these rules, you are responsible for yourself. _You will NOT be caught breaking Hogwarts’ rules.”_

Was that a free pass for rule-breaking, I heard? 

Slytherin sounded so _fun_ already.

“Are there any questions?”

Cue some questions from the first year boys — Tristan Harper, Julius Rookwood, Nathaniel Wilkes, Dietrich Bastion, Lucas Vaisey, Edwin Rosier, and Sebastian Flint — while I looked around at the Common Room some more. I dreamed that I spoke to the Giant Squid through the windows once, and I wanted to try it, since I was entirely unsure whether that was a dream or a vision; it _and_ the mermaids, if they deemed to say hello. I could try it tomorrow, it was _Sunday_ tomorrow... classes weren’t ’til Monday. Oh, but I wanted to use tomorrow to explore and familiarize myself with the layout of the school — maybe if I begged Prefect Zabini, she wouldn’t force the escorts and I’d be able to go off on my own... 

My mind wandered and I nearly missed Snape’s curt dismissal until he called:

“Miss Weasley, see me.”

I obeyed and stood before him, feeling very short (a relic of my old life, as Ginny was taller than me) and blinking at his faded colors: a deep, sorrowful blue tinged with black and silver, streaks of very, _very_ dark purple and green throughout. It was like looking at a particularly pretty sky, if I were feeling suicidal that night.

“You are aware you are the only female Slytherin of your year.” he said.

I nodded. “Because of the war?” I said quietly.

Snape’s eyes flashed. “Yes.”

No one wanted to be having children at the height of Voldemort’s power. So many families and family branches were wiped out… So many people were killed in the most horrible of ways… No one wanted children, especially if they were involved in _any way_ with the war. Which most were. My year group must’ve been the smallest in centuries, there were only _eight_ Slytherins, all of them purebloods.

“There are six Slytherin girls in the year above, three to a room. You may choose your room, and I will inform them and have the castle add a living space to whichever you prefer.”

I frowned. “I can’t live by myself?”

He raised a brow imperiously. I really wanted to learn how to do that. “You do not object to a solitary room?”

I shook my head. “I’d rather sleep alone than with older girls…” _Who already have established groups and therefore might target me._

Snape seemed to understand, and nodded curtly. “You will be on the first floor. It will be the first door on the left. This is a privilege. Do not abuse it.”

“I won’t, sir. Goodnight.”

“...Goodnight, Miss Weasley.”

 

**…**

 

_I was sorted into Slytherin, Tom._

_Congratulations, Guinevere. I’m sure you’ll do well in my old House._

_Ginny probably hates me. Ron, too. The twins won’t_ hate _me but they won’t be happy, either._

Draw him in... let him think I was a lonely girl who needed help, pour fake history into his ears and watch as true history comes from his lips… Because, surely, if there was anyone who was a good source of information on a certain Dark Lord that’d rise in a few years, it would be Tom Marvolo Riddle? Not to mention, the man had been a genius. I could benefit from that.

(Had to channel my Slytherin somehow, right?)

_You’ll always have me, Guinevere. Or aren’t I better company than some foolish Gryffindors?_

_And more convenient, too. A pal in my pocket, I daresay — sure we can’t market you?_

_I’m quite sure._

_Damn. We’d make a killing, Tom. I’d split the profits, of course._

_You’re teasing me._

_That’s what friends do, Tom. They tease. But they don’t mind because that’s all it is. On another note, my idiot brother somehow stole the car and is in enormous trouble for flying to school that way. I’m actually not sure if he knows that I’m a Slytherin._

_If your brother is that imbecilic, I would not be surprised if he is oblivious the entirety of the year._

I had to laugh. Tom Riddle probably meant it seriously, 'cos he was a fucking arsehole and all that, but I took it as a joke — Ron was a right oblivious idiot, all right. Maybe a bit less so when he was concentrating on something, like chess or protecting me and Ginny or Quidditch strategies, but otherwise? Yep, that was Ron.

I decided to play a bit more timid, though. _Should I apologize tomorrow?_

_Why apologize for being superior?_

Snorting, I replied, _Don’t make me laugh, Tom, I’m trying to calm down to sleep._

_That would be for the best. You should sleep soon, Guinevere. You’ll need your strength for your first classes on Monday. I can tutor you in anything you have trouble with, if you’d like. Though, really, you’re too clever to have any trouble with_ first year _curriculum._

_Flatterer. I might talk to you a lot throughout the year, though, Tom. Is that alright? I’m not really quite sure what you do all day._

_I don’t mind. I simply look at my own memories. Why would you speak to me more than usual?_

_Well, I_ am _a bloodtraitor in Slytherin. That, and I have no female roommates._

_Hm. A shame. You are wonderful company, when you aren’t in a teasing mood._

_I’m wonderful company all the time._

_Arrogance is unbecoming, Guinevere._

_Look at who’s teasing now. Alright, I’d better turn in. Goodnight, Tom._

_Goodnight, Guinevere._

I closed the diary softly. I had been in a state of constant paranoia ever since I nicked the thing from Ginny’s books before she’d even realized it was there. There had been no visions that warned me, though, so it seemed I wasn’t going to die from going against Fate like this. But I was still waiting, because honestly, the Basilisk fight was pretty much an entire book/movie.

But nothing came.

And what would I do even if it did? Give it back? Allow Ginny to be _possessed?_ Scarred for life?

That wasn’t going to happen.

_What’s best for me and mine, and what’s fair for everyone else._

I touched my heart, remembering the feeling of steel and home. _No one_ was going to touch my family if I could help it. _Ginny_ , my innocent sister that liked flying and writing and watching me do magic for her, was not going to be _possessed_ by a teenage Dark Lord. I would never allow _my sister_ to go through something like that.

_Am I going to be possessed instead?_

Maybe. But then I’ll understand what’s going on. And I’ve already taken precautions not to allow the bastard into my heart. I Occluded heavily every time I was _near_ the diary, let alone writing in it. And I never forgot what Tom Riddle was, what he could do, and what he _did_ do. I could glean what information I could from him, try to get him to teach me how to _destroy him_ , and then I’d lock it away. I’d keep it hidden and under tight wards — which I was planning on studying this year, extensively — until the day the Horcrux hunt began, then I’d give it to Harry and grin as the thing was _murdered._

It was okay. It was better me than anyone else, taking this risk. So that was settled. 

When I went to sleep, lulled by the sound of the lake’s water, I dreamed of the Chamber, empty.

And when I woke, dreamless, I grinned to myself, because this meant I wasn’t going to _die_ because of how I destroyed canon in its entirety like that. My Clairvoyance would warn me if I was going to die because of what I did; it would preserve itself, and as it originated from me, it would try to get me to live as much as possible.

So then it was Sunday, and time for me to explore.

I was up early, dressed neatly despite the obvious wear and tear of the secondhand robes, and I strode out the Slytherin dungeons alone. I technically wasn’t supposed to be up and about yet, but I enlisted a nearby portrait to tell the prefect or whoever else wanted to know that I’d gone on ahead to explore — quite nice, these portraits, as long as you were polite. Wandering through Hogwarts was relaxing and I listened to the sentient, golden-colored magic that flowed through the stone like blood, my Mage Sight tuned down to the lowest I could so that I wasn’t stumbling around vomiting profusely.

As I put my body on autopilot, asking portraits about themselves and directions to the Great Hall, I opened my magic to a vision — I had to have one or two every day for an even _decently_ okay amount of sleep, nightmares or not. I couldn’t _just_ depend on Occlumency, not with my Clairvoyance this bloody strong.

_Pale pink petals scattered against the sky — lit up like beacons because of the moonlight — the peach tree they fell from standing alone on a grassy cliff — a silhouette underneath its blushing shade, lifting a cup of clear liquid to the moon — “First, my soul. Second, the moon.”_

_Stop._

_A twirling wand — silky blue ribbons bursting from its tip — drawing fleeting patterns in the air._

_Stop._

_“So… why?”_

_“Why what?”_

_A blurry image — dark — Shadows all over the walls — “It’s almost like Tolkien, isn’t it? The first owner was abandoned. Why?” — a gentle laugh, more of a huffing chuckle than anything — not used to laughing — a sigh._

_“You would think of Tolkien here, wouldn’t you?”_

_Stop._

I opened my eyes, feeling better. Letting the visions wash over me felt nice. Cathartic, almost. 

The Great Hall was predominantly empty — go figure, it was morning and it was Sunday — and I sat at the end of Slytherin table and was delighted when I asked for toast and butter, _and it actually appeared._ My eyes lit up and everything. I _loved_ toast for breakfast; it was just the best way to start the day, really.

“Ergh, what _are_ you eating?”

I almost spat out my toast and _showed_ him, ‘cos that was fucking _Ron_ and it was six in the morning and _Ron_ was up and alert at six in the morning.

Swallowing hastily, I choked out, “Who are you and what have you done with my brother?”

“Har har, Lyssie, now budge over, surprise snake.”

“Surprise sn-? The entire bloody table’s empty, Ronald!”

“G’morning-“ an interjected yawn, here, “-Lys.”

“Oh, hello, Harry.” I said, smiling at a disheveled Potter sinking into the seat across from me; then I eyed Ron, who was shoveling newly-appeared scrambled eggs and bacon into his mouth, “Didja see that, Ron? That’s what _manners_ are, see.”

“Guh’ ‘ornin’ ‘Is.” he replied.

“You’re disgusting, Ronald.”

I wasn’t blind to the last member of the Trio eyeing me strangely, and turned to face her as she clambered onto the bench next to Harry. “Hello, Hermione. Nice to see you again. Wish we could’ve talked more, Ron wouldn’t shut up about you over the summer.”

She smiled, blushing just a little bit. “Pleasure to meet you.” she said shyly; then, apparently remembering her Gryffindor courage, “You’re a first year, aren’t you? Ron got us up so early to come check on you, he knew you’d wake up early, and we’d be happy to show you around to your classes for tomorrow- that is, _after_ breakfast.”

“Awww. Ronnie, were you _worried_ for me?” I asked, batting my eyelashes.

He shoved my face away, blushing to the tips of his ears. “Come off it, Lyssie, I’m trying to eat in peace.”

I laughed, wondering if this was a butterfly effect or if he really did this for Ginny in the books, off-screen.

“Is Gin coming, then?”

That sobered up the mood more quickly than Malfoy.

Harry muttered the answer. “Erm… Ginny’s a bit… upset right now. With you.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “She’s barking mad, Lys.” (Hermione gasped, admonishing, “RON!”) “I think she scared the magic out of her roommates; I asked if she wanted to come last night but she said she didn’t want to see you. Mind, Harry and I didn’t know you were a Slytherin so we were right confused.”

I groaned. “And this, Ron, is why I didn’t warn her.”

“Hey, don’t lookit me, Lys- She’ll cool down in a few days, always does.”

Hermione interjected here, “I can talk to her, if you’d like, erm, Lys?”

I smiled at her, knowing she was confused. No one had explained why I was called Lys even if my first name was Guinevere. “It’s for my middle name, Lysandra. Dad’s grandmum, I think.”

Harry looked offended. “Wha- So Hermione gets to call you Lys straight away and I had to work for it the entire summer?”

_Good save, Potter._ I thought, (the conversation on family didn’t seem to be working, with Ginny hating me at the moment) smirking and replying, “It’s different between girls, Harry. It’s the _Code.”_

Ron blinked at me. “The Code?”

I nodded. “The _Code._ Secret set of social rules and traditions passed from female to female. I’m not allowed to tell you any more, though — you _males_ have your _own_ Code. Right, Hermione?”

The other witch held back her giggles and nodded quite seriously, which had a mystified Ron and a skeptical Harry believing my bullshit right away. We ate breakfast like so, my spouting off about the Code and then acting scandalized that they’d never received their rundown of their own Codes from their male relatives, and offering to adopt them into female society for the sake of honor. Hermione was trembling with withheld laughter, which was good. Before any Slytherins came in to see three Gryff second-years surrounding their only female first-year, we had gotten up and left, so the three could show me around.

Hermione excitedly took the lead, dragging a much calmer Harry with her, and I pulled Ron back to speak of more serious things.

“Will she _really_ cool down in a few days? Or is it a George-worthy grudge?”

I refer, of course, to the unfortunate incident in which we Weasley children were introduced to the demonic temper of Ginny. It was when she and I were really, really young; three or four, or something. The demon twins decided to prank the female twins; Fred got me and George got Ginny, and oh _Merlin_ it was the worst toddler meltdown I’d ever encountered. Fred dumped a bunch of fake insects in my bed, which I had screamed at and run from until realizing that I’d been gotten and laughing… but George, upon making Ginny’s dolls burst into confetti, had been subject to a tantrum and a grudge that lasted until nearly half a year.

(They never touched Ginny again, needless to say)

Ron looked a little glum, and gave me the answer I expected and dreaded. “George-worthy, I think.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “Did something blow up?”

“She managed to keep her temper until we were all in our dorms.” mumbled my youngest big brother, “I heard the first year girls’ dorms windows shattered.”

We both looked down, a bit embarrassed for her.

“Keep an eye on her? I asked Harry to already, but now I’m _really_ worried.”

“Would it have killed you to have warned her?”

I glared at him. “Don’t put this on me!”

“Blimey, Lys, I’m not _blaming_ you! I’m just saying. Soften the blow, y’know?”

I was a bit irritated, but the genuine concern in Ron’s face convinced me to just sigh. “Yeah, I should’ve. But then she would’ve been sulking the entire train ride and that’s not how your first Hogwarts experience should go. And it’s not like no one saw it coming!”

“Heh. ‘ _Saw_ it coming’.”

“Oh, shut up, Ron.”

Within the family, sight and eye jokes were _everywhere._ Fred and George were the worst, but Ron liked to mutter his own damn puns whenever he could. I usually just rolled my eyes, but it’s been _years._ I think I’ve heard every pun there was and could be.

He sighed. Then he ruffled my hair playfully. “C’mon. It’s your first day at Hogwarts and you’re _moping.”_

“I’m not _moping.”_

“Are too.”

“ _You’ll_ be moping when Mum and Dad get that letter from Dumbledore.”

Ron paled rapidly, obviously having forgotten about the fucking car fiasco last night. I shook my head at him in pity. He mumbled to me faintly, “Y’know my wand was snapped by the Whomping Willow.”

I stared at him. “Mum’s going to kill you. I’d kill you if I were Mum.”

He shook his head of his thoughts and I could almost see him shove it to the back of his mind for now as he turned to grin at me. “But you _are_ moping.”

Dammit. My distraction tactic was a fail. Onto aggressive maneuvering. “Yeah, and now I’m hexing you.”

“Wha- Put your wand away, woman! Merlin, no-”

“ _Rictumsempra.”_

Hermione and Harry turned in surprise as I took Ron down with the Tickling Charm. I was very smug when Hermione took my side (“Honestly, Ron, if your sister’s been doing wandless magic for so long, don’t you think you ought not to provoke her?”).

I supposed that it was a good start. Even if Ginny was furious with me, it would help her become independent and mature. Hopefully. I honestly think I spoil her too much. Best that I don’t mention that to Tom, though, I’m really going to have to play up my helplessness if I want to get into his head this year.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for kudos-ing/commenting/bookmarking, to those who did. I almost forgot to update today, since I worked and then I had lab. Bleh.
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 

**…**

 

Classes were easy. Ridiculously so.

_I’m so bloody BORED, Tom. Why do we need an entire WEEK to learn the wand movement to_ Wingardium Leviosa? _I bet I could do it wandlessly by now._

As if I couldn’t. Even if Alby had to stop our lessons because he needed to concentrate on other things, I was smart enough to figure out wandless by myself. I’m rather sure it made my poor elder-and-dragon-heartstring a little moody when I did, though.

_ Perhaps. Not everyone has talent in the wandless arts, however, Guinevere. _

_Is that a challenge?_

_I trust you not to lie to me._

_Do I get a prize if I can perform a wandless Levitation Charm? Also, of course I wouldn’t lie to you. This can only better myself, and you’re my agent of motivation. Silly Tom._

_Flattering. If you prove that you have talent in wandless magic, I would be glad to tutor you ahead of your classes. First year, correct? I am more than adequate in the major areas of magical studies, Guinevere._

_That’d be nice, thanks Tom. I better get to practicing, then._

_I look forward to your results. Pleasant day, Guinevere._

_I’d say ‘You too’ but you’re a book._

_Watch your snark, Miss Weasley. If what you’ve told me about your Professor Snape is true, you would really best learn to curb your temper._

_Can’t help that I’m a ginger, Tom. We’ve got tempers. It’s genetics._

Classes were easy, but that helped me get closer to a certain Horcrux. Also, it seemed that my professors were baffled by my mastery of most of the first-year curriculum. (The twins and Ron probably set the bar rather low for Ginny and I…) After I silently cast _Wingardium Leviosa_ for Flitwick, he’d asked me to come to his office. He began to go through the textbook, which I performed with ease.

“Professor?” I’d asked, just before leaving.

“Yes, Miss Weasley?” he asked, rather excitedly. Flitwick was just an excitable person, I think.

“How long d’you think it’d take me to learn how to do all this wandlessly?”

Alby would get a kick out of this when I showed him the memory later. Shame that he cut down our lessons. I’d miss my grandfather-figure and his fantastic lemon drops. Well, the Hat wanted to talk to me at the end of the year; I’d show Alby then, he’d laugh.

The Charms Professor looked surprised. “Wandlessly? That’s quite advanced.” 

I frowned. “It’s just a thought, Professor. I’ll consult someone more versed in magic before I start going anything interesting.”

Flitwick grinned. “Well, with your talent, I would say a month or so.”

_I’ll tell Tommy-boy two and a half weeks. That’ll catch his attention._

I smiled gratefully. “Thanks, Professor.”

“Of course, of course. Oh, and- excellent job on your last essay, as well, Miss Weasley. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I bobbed my head in a sort of casual-polite nod, and then I was off. Cackling inwardly, as usual.

That pretty much set the scene for the rest of my classes, sans Astronomy and History of Magic. Astronomy was a lot more practical and we were still in the beginning stages, and Binns wouldn’t be able to remember my name to save his after-life. But McGonagall, salty as she was at my Sorting, was still impressed with my skill in Transfiguration; Snape almost gave an approving look at my first Potion and my very neat notes; Sprout was very happy that I was polite and not afraid to get my hands dirty (she can cheerfully blame the demon twins and Luna for that); and Lockhart, the irritating git, didn’t quite count either, but was oddly respectful of my quiet and polite (the snark passed right over his blonde head) nature. I had only deemed to speak once, when I asked him about _why_ there was a Defense against _only_ Dark Arts and not the Light ones.

Huh. 

Actually, I didn’t mean to speak at all in this bloody class, but seeing as I was born with a natural Dark core, it was just irritating to see the stigma here. I think I gained some points with my fellow Slytherin yearmates for that, too; at least, the competent ones.

Speaking of, I wasn’t friends with any of them. There were seven boys in my Slytherin year group, me being the only female. All of them were purebloods, though only a few of them were heirs. They all **_fucking annoyed me_** , actually. Six of them were ganged up on the last one, Dietrich Bastion, presumably because he was actually a foreign student from Germany; he roomed with Lucas Vaisey, Julius Rookwood, and Nathaniel Wilkes, and Lucas Vaisey was the little ringleader — a mini-Malfoy, only his hair was caramel-colored and he wasn’t quite as sharp.

It grated on my nerves, really, how I would see the straight-faced Bastion walk around with proof of his bullying all over him. Nothing that other Houses wouldn’t notice too easily — scuffs on his shoes, missing homework, ripped things — but enough that the more wary-eyed would catch. Snape didn’t seem keen on interrupting (Bastion was foreign, and the others were big-name purebloods, some of which were very obviously Death Eater names; this wasn't even taking into account the incredible independence Slytherins as a whole had), which had me watching them all with quiet disdain.

The boys didn’t _dare_ touch me, even though I was quite obviously the one with the lowest social standing. Bastion must’ve just been convenient.

_It’s none of your business, you know, Guinevere. This Bastion child, he would do well to make some allies in the older years or fight back._ was Tom’s advice when I ranted to him about the situation, a week or so later.

_This,_ I wrote furiously, _THIS is why I hate little brats. They don’t know how much their words hurt._

_Do you not count as a ‘little brat’?_

_I would never lower myself to such childish tactics on someone who didn’t deserve it. Bastion barely speaks, he’s never there at meal times, and his grades are suffering because they either keep destroying his homework or keep hiding his textbooks. The boy was_ perfectly _polite when I asked him to hand me my quill yesterday, what on EARTH are they targeting him for?_

_Why not him? He is foreign, he has no connections, and he is not academically superior._

_They rigged it that way._

_Such are the tactics of a Slytherin._

_The only reason I’m not in Bastion’s place is because I’ve got a plethora of brothers._

_Connections, dear Guinevere. Why do you want to help this child, anyway? What use is he to you?_

I was very tempted to say, ‘It’s the fucking right thing to do’ or something similar, but that would just make Tom think I wasn’t a good Slytherin. I _wanted_ to paint a weak picture of myself, but not an anti-Slytherin one. I was already too ostensibly fussy for his tastes. Too Gryffindor-ish, too Light-minded even if I wasn’t Light-cored (not that he could tell).

It wasn’t _bloody right_ , though. Fucking bullying Dietrich Bastion just because they could. And Luna, too, I knew that her bullying was getting worse, but it was even _more_ difficult for me to watch because she was in an entire different House. What Ravenclaws I _did_ catch, I quietly made their lives harder and tried to make Luna’s easier, but I just… there was so little I could do for her, especially since I was already being snubbed at every corner by _my own House._ Snubbed, not bullied, but they _did_ block me off on all sides.

I didn’t want to think I was a bloody hero, but this sort of shit… It pissed me off, and if I wanted to be very heartless about it, if/when Dietrich Bastion left, I’d be next, brothers or not. My Britishness was the only thing saving me from fending off attacks right now. But should I really step in? He could buy me quite a bit of time to befriend Prefect Zabini and earn myself protection that way…

Well, it all played out the way it wanted to nearly three weeks into the school year.

I was meditating and Occluding in a very quiet corner of the school (Tom was helpfully pointing out shortcuts and such, the lovely Horcrux bastard) when Dietrich Bastion himself came barreling through.

“ _Merde! Va te faire enculer!”_ he snarled, slamming the door of the empty classroom open with enough force to have dust cascading down the ceilings.

I blinked. I was under a Notice-Me-Not, actually, which I’d forgotten about — instinctive casting of that particular Charm was necessary in the chaos that was the Weasley household. This was a disturbance I wasn’t really expecting, though. I was fairly sure that the first word was a cuss, which painted a somewhat clear picture of what the rest of the words were.

_“J'en ai plus rien à foutre, j'en ai ral le cul!”_ he went on, whipping out his bag and dumping ink-soggy papers out. The bag itself must’ve been nice once, but it was all patched up now. I was sure it was new on the first day of classes.

Quietly, I flicked the Notice-Me-Not off my person. Bastion was still trying to salvage his things.

“I thought you were German.” I said casually.

He must’ve jumped a foot straight in the air. Another slew of French, then he turned to face me. His clothing was rumpled, hands blackened with ink. He used to look quite neat and orderly, but ash-blonde hair was tousled and grey eyes were rimmed red and glassy. I stiffened at the sight of that — _Oh god, not emotions!_ — but tried to keep myself loose as I sat cross-legged on the abandoned classroom’s desks. Bastion had _actually_ been crying recently.

Shit. I was so bad at comforting. Teasing and not teasing insults were my forte.

His eyes narrowed distrustfully, but the rest of his face was as blank as if he were an Occlumens. (Which he might be, who knows?) “Weasley. What do you want?”

A light French accent, barely there if you listened. It probably got worse when he was distressed.

I shrugged. “I was here first- Oi, you don’t have to _leave_ , Bastion, I don’t own the place. Merlin. Here-”

He almost — _almost_ — flinched when I hopped off the desk and walked towards him. That wasn’t bloody normal; was that a thing before the bullying? Or had it gotten so bad that he’d developed some fucked up reactions? It pissed me off, but I locked those emotions down tightly and gave a friendly smile instead.

My elder-and-dragon-heartstring started clearing up the dripping ink, cleaning out the bag, repairing what needed it. Bastion watched rigidly.

_They call him a statue,_ I’d told Tom, _because he doesn’t make facial expressions._

How stupid. Snape didn’t really, either, and did anyone deny he had emotions? Idiotic children.

“There, a bit better, isn’t it? We haven’t got class for an hour or two, though.”

Bastion was stiff-backed and very suspicious. “It would be foolish of me to have returned to the Slytherin dormitories.” he bit out, his French accent not _strong_ , but certainly quite _there._

I raised a brow. “Probably.”

An awkward and tense few seconds passed.

Then I sighed, running a hand through my messy hair. “Listen, Bastion-“

“ _Ferme ta gueule,_ ” he hissed, interrupting me, “I don’t want to hear it, Weasley.”

With that, the kid was gone. I was left standing there, bewildered. Then I crossed my arms and thought about it. Slytherin was the House of pride, yes? And Bastion was actually one of the few in our year that was an heir to his house. Which meant the boy had _a lot_ of pride, and I suppose my sighing was a bit pitying.

_Pity is not a mercy in Slytherin House, Guinevere,_ Tom explained as I took out the diary and wrote down my thoughts — I needed the Slytherin of Slytherins to explain, and damn the consequences —  _I would go as far as to call it an insult. It means you are weak._

_I thought so. Damn._

_Why ask?_

_Because I’d really like to know how not to piss people off._

_Language, dear Guinevere._

_As if you actually care. Aren’t you sixteen?_

_Oh? How did you know?_

_I feel like you would’ve bragged about being Head Boy if you were a seventh-year, and you don’t sound young enough for any other year. Too much of a head on your shoulders, especially for being a boy, you know._

_Well, well. I suppose you aren’t too infuriating for being a ‘little brat’ and a female._

_Oh, sod off, Tom. I’m off to Potions with the Gryffs — care to bet how many times Ginny’s glaring will distract me?_

_Twenty-seven._

_Eleven._

_Confident, are we?_

_I’ll have a very different distraction this time._

I’m sure that sitting next to Dietrich Bastion and partnering with him would be quite distracting. I’d be fending off stray ingredients and foot-trips and whatever else all class period. Hopefully, though, it would be worth it in the end. And, besides, classes were ridiculously easy; perhaps this would up my environmental awareness or something.

 

**…**

 

“Your sister does not seem to like you,” observed Bastion one day.

He had, quite surprisingly, gotten very used to partnering with me. In every class. Part of it was, yes, we usually did magic in duos. The other part was his distinct lack of textbooks because of wanton destruction. And, I would bet, a part of it was that the boy was damn _lonely_ and when someone comes up to you that is both academically ahead, magically gifted, and perfectly friendly… Well, no Slytherin would look a gift-horse in the mouth. Not obviously, of course; we were _Slytherins._ I had no doubt he investigated me as much as he could, to see if I wasn’t pulling a Lucas Vaisey and _pretending_ to be friendly only to screw him over later. 

(Yes, that child did that; no, it was not his idea. I was willing to bet it was Flint and Wilkes, those two were always plotting something.)

I must’ve passed inspection, however, because Bastion was perfectly content in our little… alliance, I suppose I should call it. Friendships in Slytherin required more than a few days and kind-ish words to go through. And even then, it was an iffy thing. Damn mistrustful lot, these children, and Bastion was especially so.

“Very sharp of you to notice,” I drawled in a very Malfoy-esque manner, “Really, Bastion, it’s not as if she glares at me every ten seconds or so. In between the very pointed ignoring and indignant sniffing.”

Bastion gave me a flat look. 

Though, to be fair, all his expressions were deadpan; there was the occasional eyebrow-raise, the tiny glare, the rapid blinks of surprise, the downward tilt of his mouth when he was concentrating, and the ever-rare _double_ eyebrow-raise, which indicated massive shock. Like, Filch prancing in a tutu around the halls shock. Or, surprise surprise, me telling Lucas Vaisey to piss right the fuck off or I’d hex him into gooey pieces. Not in those words, of course, but the message was the same.

“I was precluding my question.” he said, “ _Why_ does your sister not like you?”

“Because I’m a snake and she’s a lion. She got it into her head that one means good and one means evil. Guess which is which? Oh, and she’s probably lonely.”

“Prejudice? Against her own kin? _Mon Dieu_ , you British. Strange.”

“And you ignore the lonely part. Also, I thought you were German.”

Bastion gave me an almost disgusted look. “I am half. _Mon père_ is French, _meine Mutter_ is German. We live in her ancestral home in Germany, since _mon père_ was not originally the — what is the word? — ah, Paterfamilias of _La Famille Bastion._ ”

I blinked. Then I shrugged. “Fake-French. Got it.”

Ah, a rare expression! It was just a lighter version of his glare, though. “I am half.”

“So m’I. Half-mad with boredom and hunger.” Oh, how Ron would be proud if he heard me now. “Don’t you think finishing first year curriculum before the month is up is rather… ambitious?”

“We are the house of Slytherin, _non?_ Ambitious describes us.”

“True. But still, you — quite literally overnight — rose from last in the year to second.”

“If I were so inclined, I would surpass you as well.”

“Oh, so the student turns on the teacher, is it? I can and _will_ duel you, Bastion. Fake-French git.”

“Weasley, _for the last time,_ I am HALF-FRENCH.”

I cackled at him. It was nice, because after the first time I snickered evilly at the fact that Bastion managed to perform _Wingardium Leviosa, Lumos,_ and _Alohomora_ perfectly first try, the kid didn’t question me. In fact, I think it rather amused him; which was a far cry from my disturbed siblings, when I acted a bit more Dark than was normal in our household (which was, not at all). It was… nice, I suppose, to have a Slytherin friend who I could snark with on even ground. I felt like Tom had been a breath of fresh air, but to have someone who was physically real? Fantastic, really.

(I hadn’t realized, until now, just how utterly alone I’d been.)

(Of course, my family was close. I loved them, yeah? But they were not like me. Dad was, with the whole burning Europe to the ground bit of our bonding, but that’s a very different story. It was hard to connect when I was too busy keeping my head above the water here. Which sounds pretty angsty, but the only annoying thing about it was that it kept me from seeing to my family more.)

When Bastion _finally_ said he was satisfied, we walked to dinner. In the kitchens, that is; it was where he was more comfortable eating, with how the others targeted him. I was simply intrigued by the House Elves, and quite alright with the solitude. And he didn’t mind me sitting at the Ravenclaw table on Wednesday evenings, so I could remind the Ravenclaws _just who_ Luna Lovegood’s childhood friend was, and what I could do to them if I saw that she was upset or injured or even slightly _frazzled_ in any way. (Tall order, Luna was a very serene person…)

“Ah, I forgot to mention something.”

I rolled my eyes. “For the last time, _Lumos Solem_ will wait until tomorrow, Bastion.”

He gave me an irritated glance. “Not that.” he said shortly. “One of our _dear_ Slytherin yearmates approached me for tutoring.”

“Oh?”

“Tristan Harper.”

“Dark curly hair, part Egyptian, big blue eyes, smiles a lot?”

“The stupid hyperactive one. Yes.”

“I don’t recall him being too hostile.” I said thoughtfully.

Bastion shrugged. “He has less opportunity, as he does not share my dormitory room, and is too afraid of me to do so.” Bastion’s eyes sharpened here, and I thought I caught a flash of pain. “The most he does is watch and laugh.”

My mouth thinned into a pale line. Hmmmm… “And he approached you?”

A narrowing of grey eyes. “Begging for tutoring. He is not the only one to have noticed my sudden rise in academic rank. I have no doubt that oaf, Vaisey, will be right behind.”

“Vaisey is the ringleader. He’s the one kissing up to Malfoy.”

“Like most of them, _oui.”_ agreed my friend, “But he is stupid. He will not remember that to approach us is to turn away from Malfoy. I tell you this for a reason, however. It is likely I can overpower them. Shall I?”

I raised a brow. “Why do you ask me?”

He copied my expression in that special Bastion-way. “I assumed you were trying to topple Malfoy’s throne. The little _child_ never hesitates to insult you, and you never hesitate to return his sentiments.”

“I was not aware you were going to defer to me.”

Bastion was quiet. “…You are not the worst Slytherin to bow to.” he said hesitantly.

I blinked. Then I nodded, sighing. “I don’t know if I love Slytherin politics or if I hate them.”

Bastion snorted. “The former, obviously. You are too bored not to enjoy plotting.”

I laughed. Only a few days into this whole friendship thing, and he knew me so well! “That is also true. Is this the portrait-door to the kitchen, then?”

“Hm.” he hummed in confirmation.

We passed our meal like that, both of us very much casual in spite of our agreement to become a powerhouse in Slytherin. We might as well have been talking about the weather or how boring Charms was, honestly; I suppose, as Slytherins, a passing agreement to destroy our enemies through manipulating the stupid ones into our power was simply normal.

_God, how I love it._

 

**_…_ **

 

_You are much too gleeful about this to be a normal child._

_Tom, you_ wound _me! I’m simply laughing at the fact that Bastion’s old bullies can’t even touch him anymore with me around and the threat of my brothers over their heads. Oh, and of course, how could I forget, they’re going to walk into our sphere of influence because they’re too bloody_ stupid _to realize it!_

_Much too gleeful. I am glad we are not enemies._

_Is that a compliment? A compliment from THE Tom Riddle, prefect and soon-to-be Head Boy? Oh Merlin me, what am I to do?_

_Your disturbing exuberance is verging on irritating, Guinevere._

_Oh. Well, apologies for that. I AM very excited, though. I never thought Slytherin politics was this bloody exciting. And I did it by myself, Tom! I only meant to help Bastion out, and now we’re practically planning revolution together. In a very casual sort of way, I suppose._

_Casual destruction of authority at eleven. Dear, dear, Guinevere, what are they going to do with you?_

_Oooh, you’re in a good mood now. Care to share?_

_Perhaps yours is catching. I wouldn’t mind helping you, Guinevere. I was the leader of the Slytherins in my day. You can imagine how much work it took._

Riddle was, after all, a conspicuously NOT pureblood name. Just as Weasley was a conspicuous name for bloodtraitors. Still, the offer brought my glee-levels down a tad; I had to start thinking now, rather than just ranting to Tom because I could (and I knew petty children’s troubles would annoy the bloody hell out of him).

_It’s alright, Tom. Merlin knows it would be easier if I accepted, but I’d like to do it on my own. More satisfying that way — after all, wouldn’t it be impressive if an eleven-year-old bloodtraitor girl took down the prince of Slytherin?_

_No one would know you weren’t alone if I helped._

_You and I would know, and that’s one too many._

_One too many? Which of us would you rather not know?_

_Me._

It was the first time I’d seen the book’s colors, actually. When I saw it first, in Ginny’s room — shoved in her Transfiguration book — it’s sluggish colors looked black. Carrying it around in my pocket all day, I could see lazy, weak blurbs of the same shade of black. But today, the weakened colors seemed to flash a deep, deep burgundy; its sudden energy something akin to laughter.

“Why are you staring at your diary like it’s going to explode?”

I snapped my eyes up.

Tristan Harper was a small child with honey-colored skin, dark brown curls framing his face, and doe-like eyes a startling shade of blue. His uniform was just a bit oversized, there were freckles dotting the bridge of his nose, and he often lost his wand (pine with phoenix feather, 11 and 1/2 inches) though it was frequently found tucked in a pocket or his sleeve or, in a very Luna-like manner, behind his ear. He was _extremely_ hyperactive, very easily distracted, and often careless about deadlines and misplacement of his things, which was entirely his own fault.

A child in Slytherin that actually acted like a child. Huh.

“Pay attention, Harper,” snarled Bastion irritatedly, “You are the one who came to _me_ for tutoring. If you would be so _kind_ as to _act_ like you were interested in your own academic failures, we would move along.”

I grinned at Bastion over Harper’s head. That was almost Snape-like. Bless him.

Movement across the Great Hall caught my eye.

“Bastion, I’ll be back. Any of the gits bother you, I’ll be right over with a Bat-Bogey.”

“Good. No, Harper, I will not be teaching you that.”

With that, I popped up from the Slytherin benches and trotted across the Hall, drawing a few curious eyes as I did. Not every day that a snake slithered over to the lion’s table. But there was a certain group of redheads that I’d been missing for a while, so it was into the lion den I went. It wasn’t until I was halfway past the Hufflepuffs that one of my brothers — Fred, I was sure, even minus the Mage Sight — looked up and saw me, his face splitting into a wide grin.

“Well, here she is! The Slytherin Weasley!” he announced cheerfully.

George brightened at the sight of me. “My counterpart! Finally! I always _thought_ I was more sneaky than my identical git here-”

“Oi!”

“-and here’s the proof.”

Percy was a lot more composed, though he was no less happy to see me. “Hullo, Lys. You’ve been busy these past weeks, I take it? Of course you have. Hogwarts education is no joke, even as a first year, and I know you take your education seriously-”

“C’mon, Perce, Lyssie came here to talk about _fun_ things. Possibly giving a hint as to where the Slytherin dorms are?” George asked hopefully.

“Not on your life, brother dear.” I said cheerfully, forcibly plopping down in between Percy and Fred, who protested half-heartedly at my taking his place at the table. “What’re all of you doing eating together?”

“Well, we try to a few times a month, don’t we?”

(Well, that wasn’t canon. I didn’t think. Was it my influence? Or were the Weasleys just more tight-knit in this alternate universe?)

“Not that Gin-gin’s here.“

“Right pissed off, our little Gin-gin-”

“-which isn’t _really_ your fault, Lyssiekins-”

“Of course it’s not your fault,” Percy protested vehemently, “I, for one, knew exactly what House you were going to be Sorted into, Lys. I do believe Charlie lost a few Galleons to Bill, who knew just as well as I did — not that I gambled, that sort of thing is completely unethical-”

“Oooh, with my little quirk, do you think I’d be any good at gambling?” I asked.

The twins looked at each other, and their frankly _demonic_ smirks contrasted quite nicely with Percy’s paling face.

“Lyssie-”

“-dear sister-”

“-have we ever told how much we love you?” they finished together.

“Not at all, no.” I said dryly.

“Well-”

“There is to be _no_ underage gambling! As prefect, I won’t allow it!”

“C’mon, Perce-“

“Who’s gambling?”

I turned to Ron, who had just sat down next to Fred with Harry and Hermione following him. They gave me little smiles and greetings, and Hermione’s eyes flickered worriedly to the end of the table; Ginny was sitting there, in a gaggle of first-year Gyffindor girls. She was pointedly not looking at me, like usual. I shrugged, saying soft hullos to the two brunettes, though my greetings were probably barely heard with the irritated lecturing of Percy, the protests of the demon twins, and Ron’s clueless prodding for information.

It was just like home, really, and I felt very happy surrounded by them like this.

(Hard to get homesick, right, when my home was sitting right here, a few tables away. I suppose the only thing that might’ve completed the picture was Mum’s cooking and Dad’s soothing presence, his blues and her candy-reds wrapping around us like we were treasures to be protected.)

“How are you doing in classes, Lys?” Harry asked politely, ignoring the din that was my brothers.

“First in my year, if it interests you to know,” I said, shrugging and stealing Gryff food.

Hermione smiled. “Well, if you’ve been doing wandless, it’s not to surprising, is it? Nice to see another girl being the first in her year.”

I frowned. “You know, Zabini said something along the lines of that too. Are girls treated badly?”

“Zabini?” Harry asked.

“Josephine, the sixth year, not the one in your year. They’re cousins, I think.”

Hermione answered huffily, “Well, when you’ve got people like Malfoy going around and treating girls like breeding-cattle or idiots, it’s a bit difficult to forget. I hope the boys are better in your year, Lys, the Slytherins in ours are just… not nice.”

I snorted. “Next time Malfoy decides to insult me, I’ll tell him that he’s ‘not nice’, just for you, Hermione.”

Ron was suddenly present, looking furious. “Malfoy insulted my baby sister? _I’ll kill him.”_

“Shut up, Ron, I get him back just as bad. Probably worse. He’s a little prat, but he’s not at _my_ level yet.”

My littlest big brother grumbled. “Stupid Malfoy…” he muttered under his breath, stabbing his potatoes with more force than strictly necessary, “Git… just one good hex… targeting _my_ sister… stupid git…”

I helpfully pointed out, “If you keep using the same insults, they’ll be less effective, Ronniekins.”

“Ronniekins!” the demon twins crowed.

Ron went pink. “Bloody hell, Lyssie, did you have to remind them? I swore, they almost forgot…”

I snickered. “Sorry, Ronniekins.”

“You’re not sorry at all.”

“No, I’m not. Well- Oh, bloody buggering hell, those little gits. I’ll talk to you all later.”

Harry blinked. “Are you alright, Lys?”

I snarled as I extracted myself from the table. “Bloody Slytherin _brats._ To answer your question, Hermione, the Slytherin boys in my year are squabbling little _wankers_ , and they bully my best mate a lot, and there they go again. Excuse me as I hex them into oblivion.”

Hermione looked horrified. “You’ll get detention!”

“Yes, well, Bastion will help me and then we’ll have detention together so we can plan their downfall.”

The twins laughed.

“Slytherin sounds fun-”

“-why on earth weren’t we Sorted here?”

“To spare Professor Snape the aneurisms.” Percy replied dryly.

“Wha- Bloody hell, Lyssie, what sort of magic do you have that makes Percy joke around you all the time?” Fred called after me.

“It’s called _not_ driving him up the wall, Fred-dear.” I called back, whipping out my wand and going through my mental list of harmless hexes. Lucas Vaisey and the rest of them besides Harper were all gathered around Bastion, which made me suspicious.

In the end, they ended up with boils all over their faces among other things, and Bastion and I got that detention. Snape didn’t look happy about our lack of united front, which was one of his most important rules, so it was three hours of cauldron-scrubbing after classes for us. For whatever reason, Harper — the lovable idiot he was — cheerfully showed up to his dungeon and helped us despite his conspicuous lack of detention, and I suppose by the end of it, Bastion and I were in a good mood. Idiot or not, Harper had an infectious sort of energy, and I appreciated that he thought my brothers were quite interesting and was very confused by Bastion’s slips of French into his speech.

(“I thought you were German, Bastion.” “I am.” “So why’re you speaking French?” “He’s a Fake-French git, don’t worry about it, Harper.” “Weasley, do you want to die?” “So you’re pretending to be French?” “Shut up, Harper.” “Need I remind you three that you are serving a _detention_?” “I’m not serving a detention, Professor!” “Harper.” “Yes, Weasley?” “Shut up.”)

(We served an extra hour for the next three nights of detention. If I knew detention was this bloody fun, I would’ve had less of a stick up my ass in my last life, honestly. Bastion didn’t share my opinion, however.)

 

**…**

 

_Gentle drifts of snow, floating down and melting before it touched the ground — slow-falling rain, painting patters in the grey sky — wet pavement slick and shining — flooded grass, worms crawling from the earth to escape death by drowning. Crowds walking to and fro, heedless of the small form weaving around — nimble fingers — quick, skinny hands darting into pockets — never the very scruffy-looking, they noticed their empty pockets more quickly, but never the entirely wealthy-looking, they were more careful unless they were conspicuously stupid. One two three — wallets in her arms — a grin at her find._

_Stop._

_“Because the first owner was weak?” — “No, because I was.”_

_Stop._

_Dietrich Bastion walked with his head held high, pride in every edge of his posture. His eyes were bored, grey — ash hair groomed back — even as he limped ever-so-slightly — Vaisey pushed him down the last few steps of the moving staircase — “Freak. What did you come to Hogwarts for? Don’t you bloody Germans have your own schools?” laughed a voice — the dormitories — parchment soggy with ink, he could not salvage it._

_“Bastion, really,” said Wilkes — his eyes were narrowed behind his glasses — cruel smile on his lips, in his voice so filled with damning pity — “Why do you even try?”_

_Stop._

_Bastion was surprised — he didn’t show it. “Why are you sitting next to me, Weasley?”_

_Stop._

_“Leave, Wilkes.”_

_“I don’t think I will. I want to know why you’re here, actually.” — grinning, like a skull — white bone and masks and green, green light — dark brown hair hanging down his face — tall and thin and dangerous, Dietrich Bastion knew Wilkes was a threat — “Aren’t you tired of being a freak? You’re bloody weird for how you don’t feel anything.”_

_“Leave, Wilkes.” — forcefully — anger underneath the blank mask._

_Stop._

_Watch their eyes, they show what they are watching. Watch their feet, they show what they are going to do. The man lunged — opponent was ready, spinning around his tackle easily — a traditional martial arts outfit, done in dark blue with a bright yellow belt._

_His braid was wrapped around his neck. He breathed, in and out and in and out and in and out — quick sliding feet, bare on the tatami, cross his opponents and push — in and out — they fell hard, and laughed at their defeat. A good sportsman._

_“Your win again, my friend! What’s the trick?”_

_“Watch the eyes and feet.” — “Oh?”_

_Stop._

_“Do you even_ feel _anything, Bastion?” — laughter — clenched fists, tight enough that the nails were digging into his skin._

_Stop._

_“Because I’m horrible at Potions, and I know you aren’t.” — “You don’t know.” — “If those gits stopped chucking things in your cauldron, you would be. Don’t worry, I know the Shield Charm. And the Boil Hex.” — she smiled, laughing — Bastion was perplexed — afraid — “Go away, Weasley.”_

_She laughed. “Nah, I don’t fancy it.”_

_He hoped — hands clenched under the table, white knuckles — Wilkes laughing in his face — “You’re gonna be alone for the rest of the year, don’t you know, Bastion?” — dark crimson hair all messy and wavy, blue eyes blinking up at him. She grinned again — “Come on, Bastion, do me a favor. I’m pants at practical Potions.” — “Don’t drag me down, Weasley.”_

_Another laugh. “Promise.”_

_Stop._

I opened my eyes, reaching blindly in the dark for my wand and casting a quick _Tempus._ Oh, perfect. I _love_ being up at six o’clock in the morning for no fucking reason. I suppose the only upside was the fact that it hadn’t been a nightmare. Just a bunch of random shit, which accounted for most of my Clairvoyant visions.

I smiled to myself, just a little bit. Dreaming of the early days — which weren’t that fucking early, thinking on it — of Dietrich Bastion and Guinevere Weasley, hm? He was really such a distrustful puppy. But no wonder, if that fucking Wilkes messed with him like that. Those were cruel fucking words, for a child.

It was early morning and I wanted to speak to someone, about this; my brothers wouldn’t do — I didn’t want them barreling into my aid, really, it would make me look weak; they were more affective as a threat — and I didn’t want to trouble Luna. Harry and Hermione weren’t that close to me, and the only other friend I had was Alby (just… NO.) and Dietrich Bastion himself. 

Well. That left one person, and since it would annoy him and I was currently Occluding, it should be fine.

_Tom, do you think I did a good thing?_

_Good morning to you, too, Guinevere._

_Don’t get snarky with me. It’s too early for that, honestly._

_If you are referring to Dietrich Bastion, I suppose morally, you ‘did a good thing’._

_Do you always mock my colloquialisms?_

_Yes. I don’t know why you ask about Bastion now. You cannot take your alliance back, unless you wish to destroy the child completely. Which I highly doubt you’d like to do._

_I don’t_ regret _helping him. He’s very intelligent, and he amuses me. He’s currently getting Harper on our side — and yes, ‘our’ side. Bastion agreed to be loyal to me for now, though I know he might betray me later, no need to lecture me about that, Tom._

_Alliances are more dangerous than anything. They break so easily. You need to make him devoted to you._

_I’m not looking to rule over anyone._

_Foolish. You’re looking to be free, are you not? The only way to do that is to rule over others._

_Are we getting into a philosophical debate at six in the morning?_

_Perhaps you should think about that next time to prattle to be about your first year dramatics._

_Wow. That is possibly the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me. Are you not a morning person? I didn’t even think that you slept._

_…I do apologize, Guinevere. I didn’t mean to be rude._

_Nah, it’s alright. You’re grouchy in the mornings, I can deal with that. Percy’s like that, too. Shall I talk to you later? You can… sleep or whatever it is you do that’s the equivalent of sleeping._

_While I ‘sleep’, I suggest you begin learning how to knock that Vaisey out of authority._

_Why thank you, o wise one. I wasn’t thinking about that at all._

_Irritating child._

_Git-in-a-book._

When I put the quill down, I blinked at myself. Then I laughed nervously. I was suddenly _very_ glad that Voldemort wasn’t in contact with his Horcruxes directly, because otherwise he was going to torture me to death for calling him a git-in-a-book and being generally sassy to him. I mean, it was tempting! Tommy-boy _had_ to be nice to me because he wanted to possess me — not that it was happening, of course — so it was a beautiful opportunity to push his buttons.

In fact, it surprised me that he grouched at me today. I was willing to bet it was a slip-up of epic proportions; if it were Ginny, he wouldn’t _dare_ to say anything like that. But I was mature and I often instigated the annoying back-and-forth — witty banter and insults were just so fucking fun — so I suppose eventually he’d mess up. Especially if, apparently, he wasn’t a morning person.

(That was damn _hilarious_ , actually. Who would’ve thought?)

Sighing, I got ready for the day. My uniform was comfortable, if a bit rumpled and big on me. I’m sure I didn’t look like a normal Slytherin, disregarding the entire Weasley thing. My hair was a rugged mess that I usually got done via Fred (tradition since I was ‘an ickle toddler’); I rolled my sleeves up to my elbows, wore leggings under the skirt — it was above my knees and with my paranoia of having short fucking legs carrying over to this life, well… — and didn’t even bother with loafers. Beat-up sneakers, all the way; they used to be white, but Luna and I drew all over them and I eventually just chucked a semi-permanent Stasis Charm on the outermost layers, so, yeah.

Speaking of Luna! I really felt like going to go see her. Ravenclaw was in a tower, I think, and it’s not like there was an infinite number of _those_ laying about. So, halfway to seven in the morning on a Saturday in the middle of September, I was wandering Hogwarts. Tower-to-tower, hands in my pockets. I didn’t stop wandering until I spotted someone.

I was probably getting close, because that person could be no one other than the Grey Lady.

Silvery and translucent, her colors were so faded in my compressed Mage Sight — gave me a headache after a while, but it was early yet — that they were barely there, just quiet, depressed blues. Her dress was torn and dripping with darker silver, no doubt blood, and the robes on top were no better. She was beautiful and tragic, just what I expected from this sort of person.

She noticed me, and we blinked at each other for a few moments.

“I’m looking for Ravenclaw Tower.” I said, deciding that it was too much trouble to pull a Tom Riddle and get on her good side. It’d be difficult, anyway, since she already told Tom all her secrets; she’d be wary of Slytherins now.

The Grey Lady tilted her head to one side, her hair shifting just slightly, and just enough so that I could see the beginnings of a very violent wound on her chest. I focused on her face, though; it wasn’t as if I didn’t have manners, after all.

“Why seek the seat of knowledge, when you already den in the seat of cunning?”

Ergh. Too poetic for a Saturday morning. 

But I smiled a little. “Why restrict students to one characteristic? I can be cunning _and_ knowledgeable, can’t I? Besides, this is a more Hufflepuff situation. I’m looking for my friend, Luna. She’s in Ravenclaw.”

“You will expose the safehaven of all Ravenclaws.”

“Says who?”

“The silver and green you wear, young snake.”

I raised a brow. “Rather rude of you, Grey Lady. Just because I’m a Slytherin doesn’t mean I enjoy cruelty. If I exposed Ravenclaw’s entrance, then my friend would also be in danger. That is something I _will_ avoid.”

“…You are not like other Slytherins.”

“I hope not. Gryffindor-raised, you see? That, and not all Slytherins are the same anyways.” I shrugged. “Will you help me or not? I have all the time in the world to look, I’ll find the right tower eventually.”

She nodded hesitantly. “If you are so dedicated, then who am I to stop you?”

_Only Ravenclaw’s ghost. I guess that doesn’t really matter, though._

Luckily, the Grey Lady led me to the right tower quietly and without any further need for persuasion. She must’ve been bored. Or maybe my friendship thing actually moved her? Whatever the case, I was at the door. It was nicer than the Slytherin one, which was just an intricate Celtic-esque weaving of serpents around the frame of a mirror. The mirror itself was dusty and disused, stained with age, but if you whispered the password, the glass would slide away. Very different from canon, I think; a lot cooler, for one thing. The Ravenclaw one, on the other hand, was all bronze Baroque work done in eagles and ravens — wow, shocker! — with a dark wood door covered in a very pretty gate with bronze leaves. There was a knocker in the shape of a bird’s head, its eyes closed.

When I approached, the knocker’s eyes opened.

“ _How far can a fox run into a grove?”_ a slightly effeminate voice asked musically.

I blinked.

“Oh, goddammit- Wait, that’s not my answer, I assure you. Let me think.” I sighed, crossing my arms. “I forgot about the riddle…” I looked at the eagle, which didn’t seem to be all that sentient, but there were cool colors barely skimming its surface. It was alive, in a way. “Are you allow to let anyone in as long as they answer the riddle?” I asked curiously.

“ _Ravenclaw is the seat of knowledge, within a school that perpetuates knowledge. We turn away no one who wishes to learn.”_

“Oh. So that’s why the Grey Lady was rather nonchalant about leading me here. You ‘Claws aren’t discriminating at all.”

“ _We shall take that as a compliment, young snake.”_

I grinned. “Can you repeat the riddle?”

“ _How far can a fox run into a grove?”_

Well, it wasn’t an actual distance. That’d be stupid, and very subjective; foxes were presumably a bit different, and it wasn’t like the riddle would give me a question to solve without everything I needed to solve it. So age and health didn’t really factor into the fox. So it didn’t really matter that it was a fox, did it? It was a _something_ running into a grove. Did it matter that it was a grove?

Ergh. Picking apart a riddle for its words. At least I’d be awake after this- Into? Fox and grove are distracting. The word is ‘into’. Hm.

“Halfway. Then he’s running _out of_ the grove again.” I said slowly.

“ _Well done.”_

Heh. Score.

It was a very library-esque common room, with bookcases lining the round walls. Dark blue carpeting was dotted with little pale stars, just like the ceiling. The walls — what wasn’t covered in books — were pale, crowned with white molding. A statue of presumably Rowena Ravenclaw stood on the opposite side of the entrance, two doorways behind her probably leading to the dormitories. It was high-ceilinged and the windows made it bright, and the furniture looked cozy. A perfect reading place. If I didn’t love the cool dark of Slytherin’s dungeons so much, I might be jealous.

“Huh. Nice acoustics.”

“What is a _Slytherin_ doing in here?” someone shrieked.

I looked at an older Ravenclaw girl, dark hair and pale, acne-covered skin and a really outraged look on her face. Her voice annoyed me.

“Taking a stroll, obviously.” I said dryly.

“GET OUT!”

“I find it very telling that both your ghost and your door let me in with minimal questioning but you’re ready to boot me out without any.” Good Lord, that dry, British sarcasm was really catching onto me.

A boy next to her tried to placate her. (They were the only ones down here.) “C’mon, Lizzy, she’s just a firstie. That Weasley Slyth, remember? She’s not doing anything.” He turned to me, putting on a friendly smile. “Roger Davies,” he introduced. “Did you get lost?”

I recognized the name vaguely. “Guinevere Weasley. I was exploring, and when I came across an interesting door that challenged me, I couldn’t very well say no.”

Davies smiled. “Accidental, then?”

I grinned. “Well, I might’ve been _looking_ for my friend Luna Lovegood, but really, it’s not like anyone told me that Ravenclaw’s common room was in a tower.”

_Truth. No one told me. I read it, long ago._

“Huh. Odd luck — maybe the Weasley Beltane flower thing. Well, Lizzy here wouldn’t mind going to fetch your… er, friend. Looney?”

“Luna.” I corrected, eyes narrowing.

He nodded. “Yes, Luna. Sorry. Lizzy, please?”

The girl looked petulant. “You’ll leave if I fetch your little friend?”

“Probably.”

“And you won’t tell anyone where our tower is?”

“Probably not.”

Because, honestly, it wouldn’t benefit me to tell anyone where my friend’s dorm was. Luna had a target painted across her back with how people were unnerved by her, and I wasn’t about to give her semi-sanctuary away. Semi, because much of the bullying was internal. I’d fix that up as soon as I established a foothold in Slytherin properly, of course. Luna understood that I would have to work to build myself up there; it was why I didn’t partner with her in the Slyth-Claw classes, since I needed to work with Dietrich Bastion.

Still, though; outside classes, I’d be trying to see her.

Miss Priss left, going through the right-hand staircase, and when she returned a few minutes later, Luna was trailing behind her and I was talking about 3rd year Transfiguration curriculum with Davies. He seemed surprised, whatever-her-name was irritated and sulky, and Luna was just as collectedly calm as always. I brightened at seeing my friend.

“Luna! Want to explore the forest or something?”

She brightened. She loved being outdoors. “Will we search for a Crumple Horned Snorkack?”

I nodded, standing from the extremely comfortable, somewhat Greek-inspired lounges. “If your heart so desires. Maybe we can go see the giant squid or something — we can grab breakfast from the kitchens, of course.”

Davies looked at me dubiously. “You know where the kitchens are?”

I grinned unrepentantly. “I get around.”

Luna all but skipped towards me, and I indulged her cute hand-holding habit as I waved goodbye to a bemused Davies and a scowling side character A. We made a detour to the kitchens, where I taught Luna how to get in and out and also asked her to keep it a secret, which she agreed to easily (“Lots of secrets for the snakes, isn’t it? Especially this year.” — I was half-convinced she had a bit of Seer blood in her, of course). She was happy with some scones and I was pleased with perfectly toasted bread and butter; our compliments to the House Elves were met with embarrassed glee and tearful acceptance. With breakfast in our hands and half in our mouths, we were at the Black Lake by around eight-thirty or so, and after searching for gulping plimpies for a bit, we wandered into the forest.

“I’m glad you came to fetch me today.” Luna said as we trudged through barefoot.

(We ditched our rainbow-marked sneakers at the entrance of the forest which we were technically not allowed into. Which was ridiculous. It was _right there._ Why wouldn’t you go explore it, right?)

“So am I. I’m sorry we won’t spend lots of time together anymore.”

“It’s alright. You’re going to become the snake queen, aren’t you?”

I laughed. “I don’t want to be the queen. I just don’t want to be attacked all the time. You wouldn’t _believe_ how they show their little insults throughout the day. I think I’ve been snubbed fifteen different times in one passing period.”

Luna looked at me in concern. I waved her off, laughing.

“Are you gathering your knights?” she asked.

“My… knights? Do you mean Bastion and Harper?”

“Lieutenants for the queenbee. The cloud has nice ears. There aren’t any wackspurts anymore; there used to be, you know, but they all went away because you make them happy. The little fawn still has lots, though.”

I laughed again. I loved this girl dearly. “We’ll see, Luna.”

She smiled. “It’s okay that you haven’t got lots of time. It’s going to be difficult, I think.”

I nodded, agreeing with that even if I didn’t feel like I understood. “I daresay it will.”

“It’s alright,” she said decisively, nodding to herself. “You’re having fun.”

“Ah, that I am,” I replied, “That I am.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AGH SORRY! I totally forgot to update yesterday. My bad. On another note, I just finished writing the third arc and am now on break, so perhaps that's why I forgot. Welp. Just yell at me next time if anyone was waiting irritatedly/impatiently.
> 
> As always, thanks for checking me out! Enjoy!

 

 

**…**

 

“You are an _idiot_ , Harper.”

“What?” said the boy defensively, “Wouldn’t it be wicked, though, Dietrich? You’d charm all the owls with bits of bacon and whatever else, and then they’d all like you! So then _maybe_ they’ll bring you free things!”

“Dead rats and mice.” I interjected from my place curled up on one of the farther couches of the Slytherin common room. The three — I gained a new follower in one Julius Rookwood, a shy boy with really lovely rosewood-colored hair that was longer than mine, he was quite a sweet kid — were seated at the coffee table on the floor, going over homework.

“Exactly,” said my self-appointed right-hand man, “Like cats-”

“Evil little gits, all of them.” I muttered.

“-they will bring presents, but nothing remarkably _useful._ You’re an idiot, Harper.”

“Gah! Julius, Dietrich’s being mean to me!”

I raised a brow at Bastion, who collapsed in the spot next to me heavily. Harper was bothering Rookwood now, who seemed flustered at the armful of hyperactive he suddenly had. The boy — Harper, that is — was a ball of energy, and it was infectious but tiring at the same time. I removed myself pretty quickly, since it’d be a nice review for Bastion to tutor the others without my input. Said-tutor was rubbing his face in exhausted irritation; amazing, really, how he still managed to school his features into a perpetual poker-face despite the many emotions displayed on his body. It was like _he actually had emotions,_ you idiot bullying fucks! Wow!

(Shit. I was a little bitter, for Bastion’s sake. Heh.)

“And since when do you let Harper call you by first name?” I asked.

The surname thing was a Brit thing, I’m pretty sure. America wasn’t like this. In light of this culture, which still felt new even after a decade and a bit of living it, I usually stuck to last names unless it was me and mine.

Bastion sighed. “The brat needs no permission to do what he wants.”

I snickered. “Well, he got _that_ part of Slytherin down right.”

An amused glint in grey eyes. It was difficult to spot, if you didn’t know Bastion that well. Which was also rather difficult, just because Bastion was very careful and distant when he needed to be. He needed to be a lot.

“The name is open to you as well.” he said so quietly, I almost missed it.

But I didn’t, and I blinked. I looked up from my book (on Warding, interesting shit, that). “I… Are you sure? That’s quite a show of trust.” For a bullied Slytherin.

“I am already your Second,” he said, shrugging. Then he muttered, almost as if he were embarrassed or something, “We are friends, _non?”_

I grinned widely. “Yeah. We are, Dietrich. Call me Guinevere, then?”

“Guinevere’s a mouthful!” piped up Harper, popping up out of nowhere.

“Call me Gwen and you’re going to have a mouthful of feathers and tar.”

Harper grinned. “So I get to call you that, too?”

I nodded, rolling my eyes. “Yes, yes, we’re all friends. Get back to work, Harper. Julius, would you _please_ make sure he stays on task?”

Rookwood — Julius now, I suppose — nodded. It was a shame he never looked people in the eye; the green wasn’t as unreal as Harry’s, but it was a really lovely jade shade. He’d approached us for help in the theory portion of most classes; his practical knowledge was enviably astounding, but he was pants at theory. So, with just a glance of deliberation, Basti- wait, no, _Dietrich_ and I took him into our tutoring group which was really just a front for our political camp. 

Slytherin politics was ridiculously intricate for being composed of children; I suppose it looked worse, though, because Josephine Zabini had a stranglehold on the 5th’s to 7th’s, and it was just the 4th’s through 1st’s that were important to me right now. Malfoy was no doubt making sure people looked down on me, and with how fucking _irritating_ that was and how much I wanted to just _fight this stupid brat_ , I was rather set on at least establishing myself as a powerful neutral entity.

(The entire purpose of my Sorting, after all, was to test myself and offer a refuge for the pureblood neutrals. To carve myself a place here that no one would look down on, that could actually be a powerhouse… that would be ideal, and I needed that done rather soon. As in, by next week or so. Shame I needed more people in my camp to actually be considered a camp.)

Bastio- _Dietrich_ read my thoughts, or so it seemed. “Four is too small.” he muttered.

Might’ve been that I was sending glances towards the center couches, right in front of the main fireplace. Josephine Zabini — who was ostensibly friendly to me, but who I was sure was testing me first to see if I could _actually_ create a place for myself in this House — occupied the favorite seat of the _magna potesta_ (her 5th’s through 7th’s). But the court of the _parvus potesta_ was by the windows, brightly lit and cool and comfortable, and that’s where Malfoy and his camp (Crabbe, Goyle, little Zabini, Parkinson, Davis, Bulstrode, little Vaisey, Wilkes, little Flint, Rosier, and occasionally Nott and Carrow) liked to haunt when he wasn’t taking the _magna_ place if Josephine Zabini wasn’t there. It was a bold move, honestly, to sit in the place reserved for the _magna potesta_ leader, but it was a statement that I had no doubt would be true.

God, Slytherin politics. Why the _fuck_ did Salazar think dividing his House in two regimes would be conductive to a learning environment? Oh, right, because it was _practice_ for real-world politics later. Amazing, really, how intricate Slytherin was. I hoped that the other Houses were just as crazy on the inside, because otherwise I was going to ask the Hat for a refund.

“You, me, Julius, and Harper, huh? That _is_ a bit… lacking.”

“Harper?”

“He doesn’t feel like a ‘Tristan’, it bothers me.”

Dietrich accepted this rather easily, nodding. “Vaisey will come soon. His letters from home are as close to Howlers as a Slytherin would receive. Paterfamilias Vaisey does not appreciate the near-last ranking he possesses, especially as his brother, Edward-“ He pointed at a bulky probable-Quidditch player lounging off to the side, away from both _potestas_ positions. “-has an acceptably mediocre rank.”

I snickered. Dietrich had a _very_ dry sense of humor, which complemented his deadpan face _so_ well, really. “Who else would we want? Should we stick to our year or spread out?”

“Malfoy controls his year too completely for anything else.”

“Revolutions often start small,” Julius said softly, revealing his shameless eavesdropping.

I raised my brows at the gentle-natured boy. “Oh?”

He nodded, brushing his cherry-brown hair back behind his shoulders. “I’ve seen Vaisey’s letters. His father expects more. Malfoy won’t help, so Vaisey will have to… well, er, go behind his back? Prefect Zabini has completely divided the _magna_ and _parvus_ because she’s still furious that Malfoy bought off her 4th’s.”

“I wondered why it’s called the _magna_ if it only has three yeargroups.” I said, watching Prefect Zabini laugh at someone or other. She reminded me of a large predator; relaxed and friendly, but only because she wasn’t hungry. There was always that element of danger in her eyes, and in the way she smiled too sharply.

Harper piped in, having gotten bored of his homework — no surprise there — already, “I heard about that! Malfoy’s all rich and such, his dad paid off the 4th’s families to make their kids defect to the _parvus._ Zabini was right pissed off, but she didn’t have any holds in the _parvus_ to do anything.”

Julius nodded. “So none of hers will tutor Vaisey, and none of Malfoy’s either.”

“Why?” Dietrich asked, raising a single brow. “It would be in his best interest.”

“He only wants very smart and powerful people in his inner circle, and all the rest are paid to shut up.” Harper said in a moment of rare wisdom.

_‘inner circle’_ gave me very bad memories. An itch in my head prodded at my barriers, but I refused it. I didn’t want to see any fucking Death Eater meetings right now, especially not in company that I didn’t quite trust with that sort of information. But, really, what the _fuck_ was wrong with Malfoy? Did he not know what Voldemort’s Inner Circle did?

…Goddammit, I bet he didn’t. Ignorant little shit.

“So Vaisey is ours.” I said, watching the chestnut-haired boy. Then I glanced at Dietrich. “Will you be alright, working with him?”

Dietrich snorted. “No need to _baby_ me, Guinevere. It is not _I_ who will worry when he defects.”

“What about Wilkes?” asked Julius softly, “He… did very cruel things.”

The others may not have noticed it, but Dietrich’s knuckles whitened, fingers gripping the sides of the couch. He said something or other, probably dismissively, but my protective instincts were snarling inside. He may not have been a true ‘me and mine’ category, Dietrich, but he was helping me plan out my crusade for power, which would make my years in Slytherin a lot more comfortable. Whatever Wilkes said or did, the little shit was going to _pay._

Again, Dietrich proved his almost mind-reading skills when he gave me a look. “He is… useful.”

I scowled. “ _You_ are the Second here. I’ll hex him to pieces if he thinks he can waltz over to my camp and pretend nothing’s wrong.”

There was a satisfied look on Dietrich’s face that he probably thought he was covering up well, but not to my well-trained eyes. “We will see. Wilkes, Flint, and Rosier may very well stay in Malfoy’s good graces.”

I looked at the _parvus potesta._ Malfoy was gesturing wildly, a sneer on his face. I would bet he was mocking Harry Potter or my brothers or me. Maybe all. It made me irritated, seeing a little brat like that. Especially since he resembled his father so much, the fucker that _literally_ haunted my nightmares for years.

“This is going to be a pain.” I sighed.

Dietrich shrugged.

 

**…**

 

Thursday after classes, and I was tired of this passive-aggressive bullshit Ginny was pulling. She could either come up to me and _bloody fight me,_ or leave me _the fuck_ alone because I was dealing with TOO MUCH SHIT. Slytherin politics, Tom Riddle, my private studies on Warding and Healing and core theory, trying to write to my brothers and parents on a regular basis… I could _not_ add little annoying glares in Potions to that, I really could NOT.

At the same time, though, Ginny didn’t have as much shit going on so my ‘abandoning her’ might’ve been a very impactful thing. She was a child, and I suppose she was entitled to her own little tantrums. 

With a sigh, I glanced at Dietrich.

“Better try, Guinevere.” he said quietly, his eyes softened and his slow-pulsing colors understanding, “Especially here, where Malfoy will give you no grief for it.”

I nodded. 

“The Git Lord will probably be wondering where you are if you don’t show up soon, but we’ll cover you, Guinevere.” Harper said cheerfully.

“When did you start calling him that?” asked Julius in horror.

“I heard Harry Potter and Guinevere talking!”

“Where do you have _time_ in between all the tutoring I give you to listen in on private conversations?” Dietrich hissed.

Harper laughed. “It’s not like I don’t run away lots of the time, Dietrich!”

“Harper.”

“Yes, Dietrich?”

“Shut up.”

I rolled my eyes. They were all secretly idiots, I swear. “I’ll help you with _Wingardium Leviosa_ when I get back, which shouldn’t be too long if she’s still mad and won’t be long at all if she’s _really_ mad.” I said, earning some snorts and a laugh from Harper.

I had to run a little to catch her, but it was a secluded hallway and that was good.

“Ginny!”

“Go away!”

Oh boy. Nope, wouldn’t be long at all. I fucked up, big time.

But I had a stubbornness in me — we _were_ twins, after all — and I wanted to get this out of my system before I lost my motivation to end this already. That happened a lot, actually; I’d build and build emotion or will, and then let it flood out when I needed a bit of courage on impulse. Probably why the Hat wanted me for Gryffindor. (This also helped in my early stages of wandless magic practice; building emotion and intent was a fantastic way to start fucking shit up with my lovely indigo core.)

So I cut her off, blocking her way with an outstretched arm, and before she could snarl and push past me I blurted out quickly:

“Look, Ginny. I’m sorry, yeah?” I tried to sound more… apologetic, but the frustration was eating at me. “I know you were excited about the whole ‘being in a dorm together for seven years’. I know you really look up to me and wanted to be able to be all Fred-and-George in Gryffindor. I should’ve said something. I get that. You’re probably going to be right pissed for a while longer-“ _and that’s okay, I can deal with that…_ “-so when you’re less angry with my insensitivity, we can talk like before. I don’t care what the other snakes’ll say, family is family. That’s it.”

And then I spun around and began to walk off.

“Lys!”

A tiny, _baby_ surge of hope, which I proceeded to squash down out of practicality as I turned back around, having crossed most of the hallway before I heard my twin call out my name again. (I had watched this girl grow up. She used to and still did put flowers in my hair, and held me at night when the nightmares were bad. Of course I was hopeful.)

She looked angry and sad and confused, but mostly she was hurt and lonely. Her colors were a bit wilted, and I made a note to kick Ron’s arse for not looking after our sister better.

“I… I have to think. It might be a while, I’ve never been half as clever as you... but when I’m done thinking, we’ll talk, okay? Before the year’s out.” she said slowly, looking unsure.

(Must’ve been a big thing, a big change, that suddenly the person who you thought would be there forever broke away. I could understand that. That was fine.)

A small smile, and I nodded and headed back down to the Slytherin Commons.

I hoped that Ginny was growing up a little, without me. It took a bit for me to realize that she was a bit of a brat _because_ of _me._ Canon Ginny had grown up all alone — a girl in a house of boys — and it probably hardened her somehow, strengthened her. But with Guinevere Weasley thrown into the mix… well, it gave her a crutch — one she became far too used to, even if I wasn’t as close to her as I probably should be. Not that I got myself into Slytherin just for her benefit, but it was one of the good points of wearing the green and silver tie.

 

**…**

 

_That being said, though I understand her childish reasoning, it was quite annoying._

_I’d imagine so. You’re better off without her, don’t you think? It’s a sort of betrayal, the way I see it... she was supposed to be your_ twin _, the one who understood you the most... and yet she’s turned her back on you just because_ you _understood yourself better._

_You’re actually kind of nice, aren’t you, Tom?_

When he’s pretending to care, of course. Bloody lying bastard.

_Did you ever doubt that I was? I’m hurt, Guinevere._

Ha! And I’m still Pansy Parkinson.

_You’re just saying that because I can’t see your actual face. I’d be able to tell if you were really hurt if I were speaking to you in person._

_Oh?_

Dear Merlin, here was the gamble. It had been a long while since I had the diary, and the bastard wasn’t giving anything away! So I had to give something... something not that important. The Clairvoyance was too powerful, so not that. The reincarnation thing was _definitely_ off the table. Anything to do with Harry or my family would endanger them.

I’d already told him about the first Wizarding War, about Voldemort, about his fall. I didn’t tell him how or why, though, so he wouldn’t even _know_ about Harry Potter. Wouldn’t be interested — that’d keep Harry relatively safe this year. It was peacetime he knew now, so there was really nothing that would interest him that I was supposed to know but...

_It’s a power I have. I can sometimes see what you’re feeling, if it’s an important feeling enough. It’s less emotion and more…_

_A sense of who they are, perhaps?_

_That fits it better, yeah. But mostly I see the colors you have, how they move._

_Colors? That sounds very interesting. Do the colors do anything, the way they move?_

_Oh, come now Tom, you get to know everything about me and I barely get anything out of you!_

_Ah, yes, then… How about a trade? What about a secret for a secret, Guinevere?_

That’s right, you tricky bastard. I’m soooo starting to trust a sentient book that wants to know too many things. I’m starting to trust you, so you should start to trust me... or at least, give me more goddamn information.

_Real Slytherin of you, Tom. I want a hint of your secret, since you’ve got a hint of mine._

_Hm... how about a secret within Hogwarts? A secret buried within since the age of the Founders?_

The Chamber of Secrets? Really? Fucking Tom, trying to give me something that won’t help anyone but a psychopathic Parslemouth. The sneaky bastard.

_I’d rather pick your mind, actually. How much do you know about warding?_

Quite a lot, if Dumbledore’s fucked up hand in the 6th book has to say anything about it. Could be useful, getting him to guide me through my own private studies.

_I know quite a bit. Is this your price, Guinevere? Your secret for tutoring in warding?_

_Funny. You don’t even want to know why I want the warding instead of your secret._

_I assume that you value warding above a secret that may or may not be useful to you._

_You didn’t hear it, but I actually gasped aloud. You know me so well._

_I aim to please._

_It’s called Mage Sight, by the way._

_Ah. Your secret._

_Yes. So I see colors, all over the place. They hum, too. Your colors — the colors of this book — are hard to see, though. Dulled. I’ve been wanting to ask about it; does it mean you’re fading? Can I help?_

_You’re already helping, Guinevere._

He says as he believes to be sucking away at my life force and magic. I bet he thinks he’s clever, doesn’t he? The Great Hall was clearing out, though, with it almost being time for class — everyone was jittery and excited for Friday. I had DADA with Lockhart, the sparkling menace, which I wasn’t looking forward to... it was honestly more fun tricking a teenage Dark Lord out of information. I might skip. Lots of practicing skipping classes in college, before I died.

Throughout the entire day, however, I spoke to Tom. It reminded me of texting, honestly; like we were two kids sneaking messages in class. And then after, too. I just had to pretend he wasn’t actually present inside his fucking book, and it’d almost be normal.

_Am I actually helping, though? I dunno, I_ did _spill an entire inkwell on you yesterday. Sorry._

I wasn’t sorry at all. I wanted to see what would happen. It all vanished, and I hoped that the Horcrux was doing the equivalent of drowning in ink.

_No harm done. Malfoy again, I suppose?_

_Yeah, the bloody git. Pushed me. Or his lackey did. We’ve been sniping at each other since day one… speaking of which, Vaisey’s due to approach us any time now. His grades are atrocious and no one else will help him without making him look incredibly stupid to Malfoy. Oh, hold on a sec, Harper needs help with his Levitation Charm._

_The boy is an idiot. When your followers expand, demote him._

I rolled my eyes at such a Dark Lord comment — I think he thought I wanted to be a Dark... Lady or something — and stood to walk Harper through what he was doing wrong. Tristan Harper was an idiot, honestly, but he refused to ask for help in class where Flitwick would see; that prideful mask came down when it was just us (Dietrich, me, and Julius), and he suddenly became something reminiscent of a puppy, eagerly watching as I directed his hand and searching for praise when he did something right.

Oh, Harper.

I sighed. “Harper, no. Don’t flick _then_ swish.”

“Like this? _Wingardium Leviosa!”_

“No. Harper, you _just_ had it a moment ago, why- Dietrich, can you help him?”

“Wha- Why is he ‘Dietrich’ and _I’m_ just _Harper?”_

The boy in question just sighed in his French-accented voice, “Harper, you absolute _idiot.”_

“I resent that!”

“Maybe if you spend more time watching your wand and less time watching Guinevere _write in her diary_ , you’d have it again. You idiot.” replied my stoic friend bluntly, rolling his eyes at the several failed spells.

Harper muttered, “Why is it you’re from Germany but you’ve got a French accent? You Fake French git!”

There was going to be a murder, if Dietrich’s face was any indication. But while those two squabbled like children, Julius and I straightened at someone approaching our usual corner of the common room. The stranger shuffled forward uncharacteristically, one hand on his schoolbag and the other scratching his butterscotch hair. It was almost _sheepish_ , the expression on Lucas Vaisey’s face.

(I rather wanted to cackle inwardly.)

_Guess who showed up to the party, Tom?_

_Do be nice. It is always easier to gain loyalty if you’re kind to someone downtrodden._

_I know that, thanks._

When Lucas Vaisey was right in front of me, I raised a brow. Dietrich was aware of him, but he continued whatever conversation/argument he had with Harper, who was not as aware as the rest of us. Julius looked a bit tense, like he was in fight-or-flight mode. I tried to emulate Prefect Zabini’s relaxed predator thing, tilting my head to one side and smiling sharply, keeping my eyes cold.

“Need something, Vaisey?”

He glanced at Dietrich. Then back to me, meeting my eyes. “Tutoring.”

Though I commended him for the eye contact, I got a little bit irritated at the one-word answer and that dismissive look at my second-in-command. “Funny, Vaisey. Normally, when you do something rather irritating to another, you apologize for it _before_ you beg for their help.”

“I didn’t do a thing to you, Weasley.”

“Mess with my lieutenants, you mess with me. That’s the way it works here, Vaisey.”

Dietrich snapped his face towards me, looking as alarmed as he could without changing his expression too much. This was, quite obviously, not what we’d planned. But I knew that Vaisey was arrogant, and I needed to put him in his place while he remained in this camp. He needed to learn that this was not a free pass to becoming a leader again. He was not good enough for that. The sooner he learned, the sooner I could build him up into a — if not trustworthy — _competent_ lieutenant.

(I was thinking way too fucking hard about these children’s politics, I swear.)

Vaisey looked conflicted, fidgeting in place. Then he turned to Dietrich, and gave a short half-bow. “I’m sorry for the way I treated you, Bastion. Please tutor me.” he said stiffly, but not… well, not _exactly_ petulantly. Not that he meant it completely, but he wasn’t trying to save his dignity at all.

Good.

“We’re working on Charms.” I said curtly, snapping everyone out of their reverie — it wasn’t everyday that you saw a bully apologize to their victim, after all, especially between purebloods here — “Harper’s absolute pants at _Wingardium Leviosa_ , so at least you won’t be the worst here.”

“I resent that, too!”

“Shut up, Harper.” Dietrich sighed.

They went to work, and I grinned. And then there were _four_. My firsties. My _minions-_

Whoa, whoa, whoa. The fuck? I’m not a Dark Lord, dammit.

“ _Wingardium Leviosa!”_

“Merlin. He actually got it.”

“Good job, Harper.”

Rolling my eyes as all the boys — Dietrich clapped, though — cheered at Harper’s first success, I settled back into my corner and dipped my quill. As a joke, I’d nicked a few wells of color-changing ink to blind Tom’s eyes when I spoke to him. He was irritated at first, but I think he gave up. Today’s color was bright magenta.

_Poor Harper. If I hadn’t shown up, Malfoy would’ve destroyed him._

_The boy’s not even put together in the first place. Did he finally succeed in elementary spell-casting?_

_He just did... Never mind, the feather shot straight up Vaisey’s nose. I wish I could draw well with ink, I’d show you how utterly stupid they all look, running around with feathers chasing them. I think Harper’s an accidental genius, that’d be a fun spell. Back to warding, though, I’ve got a lot of books that all the greats say to have._

_Oh?_

_Yup. I tricked my friend into getting a Restricted Section pass..._

Yes, it was Harry. He asked Lockhart for the required permission form and all that. I actually had to go through Ron to do it, haven’t seen the Trio around much. Too much Slytherin plotting. (I’d have to fix my neglected relationships after I found my feet in this goddamn House; they’d understand, I hoped.) Back to Horcrux trickery.

_“Aegis” by Faralda Machvise and “The Beginner’s Guide to Wardworks” by Hestia Jarring, I presume?_

_I’ve also got “Fortifications of Magic” volumes I-III._

_Hm. Well done. Jarring’s book will aid you in the theory of warding, and “Aegis” will show you how to integrate curses and traps into your wards. The Fortifications series is mostly an index of recorded, working wards — possibilities that have been proven, and creative fodder for your own designs._

_Excellent, I’ve got the tools at my fingertips, then, yeah? How will we judge that I’ve got the practicals down, then…? Am I going to throw you at my wards?_

_Don’t be ridiculous, Guinevere._

_It’s an honest question! It’s not like you’ll be hurt by that._

_Not like I’ll be hurt by being thrown... You threw me. When?_

_...Don’t worry about it, Tom. Now, wards?_

Sometimes, I could almost believe that Tom and I were friends. I think it was my own style of writing cluing him into how to appeal to my modern mind, but he seemed almost casual now. But I shook my head — I wanted the guy’s know-how, not his friendship. Even if it _was_ nice to be able to point out patterns in colors and music of magic to someone who wasn’t Dumbledore.

Alby never made time for me anymore, it was a shame. Must’ve been ‘cos of Harry; the kid would need Dumbledore, that’s for sure.

“Guinevere.”

I looked up to see a frazzled-looking Dietrich. There were feathers in his hair, stuck at odd angles. He looked like he was at the bad end of a pillow fight, and I was proud of the fact that I kept my face straight.

“Yes, Dietrich?”

“Harper is an idiot.”

I laughed. Thursdays were good days.

 

**…**

 

“Fred and George, what’re you doing so close to the Slytherin dungeons?” I asked, brow raised.

The demon twins twisted around in surprise, but upon recognizing me grinned and swept me up into individual hugs. I hummed happily, letting George cling onto me casually; I’d daresay that the indigo in his edges was _my_ colors, therefore he’d missed me the most. Him and Percy, I reckon, since their colors were very similar to my own.

Fred ruffled my hair. “Well, well, well-”

“-we just wanted to see our little snake of a sister.”

“Didn’t we, George?”

“That’s right, Fred. So suspicious.”

“Already! A true snake.”

“It brings a tear to my eye.”

I rolled my eyes at them again. “I don’t know _how_ you do it, but stop. I’m getting dizzy.”

George stiffened.

I smacked his arm. “Not a dizzy spell, idiot. Merlin, me. What are you two _actually_ doing down here? I’ve got a House to conquer, you know. Once that’s done, I’ll have more time for your Gryffie tendencies.”

“I’m _hurt_ , Lyssie.” George said dramatically.

“Absolutely hurt.” Fred added in, even more dramatically.

“We just wanted to know if you wanted to play some Weasley Quidditch!” they said together.

“I’m garbage at flying.”

They glanced at each other. I narrowed my eyes. Something about this was strangely familiar, actually… Ah, that was it! I hadn’t seen this sort of behavior and those sorts of expressions since I was, what, four? Five? When the family discovered my Clairvoyance. Fred and George were, for some odd reason, _worried_ for me. And trying to cheer me up.

(Their manipulations worked back then. I was a bit too engrossed in Slytherin to not _automatically_ spot it now, though.)

“What’s wrong?” I asked, arching a brow at them.

Fred blinked, then grinned sheepishly. “It’s right scary, how sharp you are, Lyssiekins.”

George nodded empathetically.

The older twin — which was Fred, by the way — sighed. “Heard you talked with Gin-gin.”

I frowned. “I’m not the one with problems.”

“No, but you’re not exactly comfortable approaching Gryffindor when she’s making it difficult, are you? Haven’t seen you about much, you know.” George pointed out rather accurately.

Oh. Hm. I didn’t think they’d notice, honestly. Canonically, I didn’t really think the Weasley siblings were all that… close? In the books, at least, Fred and George never really hung around Ron that much. And Percy was so isolated, he actually pretty much disowned himself. Even Ginny was a bit of an absent character, despite her marriage to Harry Potter later on. I sighed to myself; I still kept acting on what I knew, and not that I observed. Silly Lys.

“Sorry,” I muttered, “but, really, I’ve been… struggling.”

The demon twins’ eyes sharpened. (Sometimes, I thought they were probably considered Slytherins; with how utterly sneaky they were, along with how bloody _intelligent_ they could be, it was a surprise that their ties didn’t match my silver-and-green one…)

“It is that Malfoy brat?” George said quietly.

“We can get him for you, Lyssie,” Fred added viciously, “No one bullies our baby sister without answering for it…”

(May I just point out that it was _weird as fuck_ to see the eternally cheerful demon twins being all serious and shit? It’s probably because of remnants of my first world, but it was… strange. And comforting.)

I grinned at them. “I’m taking care of it. It’s why I’ve been absent recently. But yeah, I’ll come with and watch you all fly for a bit. I’ve got nothing else to do, really.” _Just meditating, but honestly, I can do that later._

The twins beamed, and both slung an arm around my opposite shoulders.

“The whole Gryffindor Quidditch team is playing.” Fred remarked casually.

“Along with Ronniekins, of course.” George added.

I smiled. “I’m convinced, I’m convinced. Should we-” I blinked. A thought occurred to me suddenly, actually. “Can I bring some of mine along?”

“Luna?”

“She means snakes, Fred, you idiot.”

“Ohhhhh. You want to bring some ickle snakes into the fold? Will Mum be knitting sweaters for your ickle friends?”

But where Fred teased, George actually looked a tad concerned. “Yours, Lyssie? Are they??”

_Me and mine_ , it was one of my… catchphrases? Verbal ticks? Mental ticks? Whatever the case, my family — mine — knew about my tendency to… be protective. Or possessive. Whichever it is, they knew that I called those that I would defend with every vicious bone in my body ‘me and mine’. That circle only extended to my immediate family, Luna, and — very tentatively — Harry Potter and Hermione Granger at the moment.

I rolled my eyes. “They’re not… like that. They still call me Guinevere.”

“Oh. Good.” George sighed.

And then was promptly slapped in the back of the head by Fred. “No, not good! Our Lyssiekins is all alone in the house of sneaky buggers!”

George blinked. “Not good. Merlin, Lyssie, but you want to bring them…?”

I wanted to hit my head against the walls, but I didn’t think Hogwarts would like that. Instead, I gave another sigh. “They’re not _me and mine_ , but they’re my responsibility. Slytherin politics and all. They’re my… supporters.”

“Minions.” George concluded very astutely.

I smirked. “They’re my firsties, how about that? I help them academically and whatever, and they watch my back so I can kick Malfoy’s arse.”

Fred laughed, ruffling my hair. “You sound like you’re having fun, ickle Lyssiekins.”

I smiled. “I like my House.”

“Too bad your Head of House is a slimy git.”

At that, I had to glare. “Snape’s perfectly nice.”

George gagged into his hands and Fred gave me a disgusted look. “You say that because he favors Slytherin.”

“Of course I do. What else would you expect from a snake?”

“Speaking of, are you going to show us the way to the common rooms?”

“No, actually, I’ll be going to fetch my firsties — Merlin knows Harper and Vaisey are bored of homework already — and _you_ two will be going to the pitch. The day you get into the Slytherin common rooms is the day the world ends, demon twins.”

“You’re no fun.”

“ _Au contraire_ , I am very fun. Or didn’t you see what I did to those ‘Claws who thought it’d be a good idea to hide Luna’s shoes?”

“Merlin, that was you???”

I’d forgotten how much I loved my family. I think I did that a lot; not forget about them, but just get lost in the _here and now_ , and forget about everything else. I grew obsessed with things, I couldn’t stop myself from it. Right now, my mission was Slytherin-domination and power-grabbing, so that I could influence decisions and protect my family that way. A bit round about, but that’s the idea; one that I probably distracted myself from, in trying to get to that power in itself.

I smiled, sandwiched between Fred and George. Yes, I’d forgotten how much I loved them, even if I hadn’t forgotten that I was going to do everything I could to protect them. It was a good thing they were all so skilled at reminding me. (As if it was skill. Who wouldn’t love the demon twins and an overly-concerned-but-trying-not-to-be Percy and Ron?)

 

**…**

 

Tuesdays were absolute hells on earth.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, _shit!”_ I muttered, upending everything in my dorm room.

Gone.

The diary was _fucking_ gone. 

Tom was gone, and this was very, _very_ bad.

“BLOODY HELL!” I finally shouted, exhausted from making a mess of my dorm.

Who stole it? I always had it in my pockets or sitting on my desk, in my dorm — my dorm where it was just ME, ALONE. I didn’t have fucking roommates that I could blame, only the _entire female population of Slytherin._ Every single girl in Slytherin, most of which I was _not_ allied with, since I was the only bleeding FEMALE in my entire YEAR. ALSO, _how the bleeding_ ** _fuck_** did they get past my wards??

Granted, they were beginner’s wards — the most punishment you’d get from them was a very strong Stinging Hex (or several) — but I had an alert on one of the layers (Thanks, Tom.) and **_I should’ve been informed of an entry_** _._

Fuck!

Tom was a goddamn menace! He was charismatic, manipulative, and whoever had him now was _probably_ going to die. It didn’t matter that he only had a little less than a month to get into their head; he’d probably fucking do it, the charismatic fucker. He knows how Slytherin works, he knows how children in Slytherin work; he can trick them so much more easily than me, just by offering secrets and quietly siphoning their trust and _life force._

And I know I said I wouldn’t take needless responsibility for things, but that death would be on _my head._ All because I put the diary down for a second to talk to Alby about something and I didn’t want him to sense the Horcrux in my damn pocket! Bloody buggering fuck, _Tom was going to_ ** _kill someone_** _because I was playing games._

If this was Fate’s middle finger to my plans and Ginny was going to almost-die, I was going to kill something.

Really.

“Okay, okay, okay. Let’s think for a moment, shall we?” I muttered to myself, sitting in the mess of my room.

_Not a boy — they can’t get in here. Sevenths and Sixths and Fifths are strictly out of_ parvus potesta _issues, and Prefect Zabini wouldn’t be so petty anyways, not to a neutral and unknown entity like me. 4th’s are honestly too chicken-shit to do anything right now, they’re currently the bone in a game of tug-of-war between the_ potesta _leaders. Thirds? Not really likely, but perhaps… Malfoy’s court... Pansy FUCKING Parkinson!_

That stupid _bitch._ If Tom took her soul she might deserve it, the simpering little pug-faced-

“Calm down, Lys!” I hissed at myself, “She’s _twelve_ , not a monster...”

Okay.

Okay okay okay.

So I’d check the third and fourth-years first- No, I’d ask Prefect Zabini- NO, Parkinson first. Any of the second-years first, actually. If it was some sort of bullshit test from the Thirds, I wouldn’t get a straight answer from them. Prefect Zabini would ask for something in turn, and I’d be less respected for running to an authority figure first. No, I’d have to trudge on alone for a bit.

I was okay. As long as Halloween passed without incident — fucking writing on the wall and all that shit — all was well.

But first.

“ _Reparo! Scourgify! Scourgify! Stuosa! Ordina!”_

There. Room nice and neat again, though a little clumsily made. Ah, well, quick work was sloppy work. (Oh Merlin, Dietrich’s tutoring is even drilling itself into _my_ mind…)

I strode down to the common room, and the room’s eyes turned to look at me. I was a social pariah, after all; bloodtraiter and all that. There wasn’t a day past when someone would make snide remarks at me in the hallways or the common room, when I didn’t find some sort of stupid graffiti on my door, when my things weren’t just a bit pranked; one of the only reasons I didn’t really _care_ was that I knew how to avoid it, with years of experience with the _demon twins._ (That, plus these were little babies trying to bully me. Babies making me into a pariah, what a laugh.)

But more than that, people were looking at me because I was _fucking furious_ and my indigo magic was _rolling_ with irritation — I was too angry to feel the impending Mage Sight headache — seeping into every corner of the room with predatory grace, silver threads crackling. 

My firsties were in their corner, and as I nodded to them, Dietrich’s eyes flashed. The kid had fantastic instincts, because his cobalt-and-grey magic stirred in interest and inquiry, twisting in with my own colors curiously; he knew something was wrong and was ready to back me up. The other three (Harper, Julius, Vaisey — the child apparently figured out that there was no turning back after coming to us, heh) followed his lead, and nearly as one, they turned to the small group of second-years taking up a few leather couches when my own eyes narrowed at them.

The Thirds and Fourths stood back in interest, but Prefect Zabini’s lot were tensing; the dark-haired Prefect herself looked at me and my quarry and a feline _leer_ spread across her pretty features; her crimson magic was excited at the prospect of — _finally_ — a direct confrontation between two warring _parvus potesta_ powers of Slytherin.

“Parkinson.” I near- _purred_ as I reached the second-year circle.

The girl stiffened and hid herself behind her dark, dry hair; she clutched onto Malfoy and whimpered, just a little bit. Henchman no. 1 and 2 (Crabbe and Goyle) stood and sneered at me, but a vicious glare and a wand in my hand — it was _hissing_ with my anger — deterred them... they retreated to back Malfoy, who glowered at me.

“What do you want, _Weasley?”_ he spat.

I humored him with a cursory glance. “Nothing of _yours_ , Malfoy, thank _Merlin_. My business is with your girlfriend there, and the... marks on her face.”

Parkinson finally faced me, and her hair fell back to reveal red, painful-looking lines across her cheeks — trailing up to her forehead and eyes. She had been crying recently, and I reveled in it because now I knew for certain _the dumb child_ stole from me, which was more dangerous than she or anyone else realized.

“You filthy little bloodtraitor-”

“Quiet while the grown ups are talking, Malfoy.” I snarled. Then to Parkinson, “If you do not return what you stole from within my rooms and wards, I will _crush_ you like an insect, little girl.”

“I did no such thing- And you’re the first-year here, _bloodtraitor.”_

My indigo-silver snarled, its song rumbling _,_ and my wand spit out angry sparks; I breathed deeply, trying to keep cool despite the fact that I was pissed, scared, and about to have another vision at _the_ most inopportune time. If my Occlumency weren’t so locked onto my Clairvoyance, I’d be spacing out about now.

Dietrich near-silently slipped behind me, to my right, and Harper flanked my left.

(I smiled inwardly; would it be shitty of me to say that I’d trained them well?)

Outwardly, my face was a mask of cold fury and I almost smirked at the fear in Parkinson’s pathetic salmon-colored magic.

“I _dearly_ hope you don’t think you can match me, Parkinson.”

“It’s hard to stoop that low, _Weasley,_ so I think you’ve got nothing to worry about.” snapped Malfoy; I turned my gaze on him.

“I have no quarrel with you, Malfoy.” I said, icily polite, “All I want is what Parkinson stole from my rooms — don’t claim innocence again, _Parkinson_ , because I warded my rooms with overpowered Stinging Hexes, so the proof is in your _miserable_ _face_.”

Her face turned ugly and I realized she was attempting to scowl.  “I heard your fat mother tried to have your magic bound, _Weasley_.” she sneered, “But your pathetic father got you out of it. Pretty sad, don’t you think, that he was proven wrong?”

There was a booming silence, and the entire House seemed to hold its breath at once.

_You should’ve had your magic bound._

One of the gravest fucking insults in the world, and the entire Slytherin House knew it.

“I will enjoy watching you flounder your way through a duel, Parkinson.” I said primly; the insult didn’t affect me as much due to my first upbringing as a Muggle, so I was cool-headed. “The Dueling Corridor, midnight tonight. Dietrich-”

“I am your Second, Guinevere.” he replied immediately, looking angrier than I’d ever seen him. 

My entire group looked angry, come to think of it, and that was weird because Rookwood was usually too _shy_ to be angry. And Vaisey… well, he’d only realized a _few days ago_ that he was stuck with us, so he must’ve just been disgusted that someone said something like that. Magical bindings were a serious insult, after all.

Perhaps one day I’d _thank_ Parkinson for this.

She straightened, turning to Draco-

But he glared at her, grey eyes narrowed in disapproval. There was a jolt in her magic, a deep hurt that _almost_ made me pity her, and she looked to Tracey Davis instead, who nodded quickly.

“I’ll be your Second, Pansy.” she murmured.

Straightening my tie, I nodded and held out my hand to shake. She took it, stepping out of her comfortable circle of 2nd years, and I took the opportunity to hiss to her quietly, “Do _not_ write in it, or I will set your _fucking owl_ on fire. And you will watch its blood as it _boils._ ”

(I wasn’t even that bothered that I threatened to kill an animal in front of a child. I probably should’ve, since that was quite obviously the sign of a budding sociopath or something. Good thing I was already grown-up… right?)

There, that struck the fear of me into her.

Good.

I turned around and stepped away in one fluid movement, and was _fucking_ proud to see my first-years gracefully follow. There was an empty classroom a few turns away from Snape’s office and near enough to the abandoned corridor all Slytherins dubbed ‘The Dueling Corridor’ for me to practice. I’d have to practice with all of them; Dietrich for his spell repertoire, Harper for his creativity and strange luck, Vaisey for his solid defense and strategy, and Julius for his agility and quick feet.

As we walked, Dietrich muttered, “You’re going to win. The girl was trembling as we left.”

I smiled. “If this doesn’t gather us respect, I think I’ll set the common room on fire.”

Harper laughed. “Snape would kill you, Guinevere!”

“Wouldn’t dare. My father is a force to be reckoned with when pissed.”

Vaisey raised a brow. “I’ve always heard about your mother’s temper, actually.”

I gave him a sanguine grin. “We Weasleys are all cowed by our mother, sure, but if our _father_ was angry… Let’s just say that Europe would _burn to the ground_.” I turned to Dietrich, who looked very impressed — for him, anyways. “I inherited that from him, actually.”

“I’d suggest _against_ murder by immolation.” he said, “I do not think it would be conductive to our power play.”

“Ah, you ruin all the fun. Shall we duel, boys?”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! As always, thank you to old readers and especially those who bookmarked/kudos/commented! This here duel is pretty short, seeing as they're all younglings, but I hope you have fun reading it anyways. Lyssie gets very playful and sassy here, for some reason. Welp. Enjoy!

 

 

**…**

 

Several feet away stood Pansy Parkinson, and even from here I could see that she thought this would be easy. Don’t know _why,_ of course; the girl was trembling in fear last time we saw each other. Perhaps Malfoy gave her a courage-building kiss...

Ew. Pansy Parkinson kissing _anything_ made me want to hurl.

(Jesus, I was so much meaner in this life. Must be the Malfoy-influence. Or maybe I was always fucking mean, but now I had the eloquence to put words to it. Huh. Maybe it was the whole ‘being a kid again’ thing. I was a rude-ass kid, first time around.)

We bowed, and she slighted me with just a presumptuous, shallow nod. I could hear Harper whispering furiously at the sight, probably to a sympathetically nodding Julius. The second-year Slytherins (Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, Davis, Bulstrode) were snickering. All other spectators — which was literally everyone in the Slytherin House — watched stoically, though I noticed there was an odd tension between second-year Blaise Zabini and his prefect cousin...

Hm. Little Zabini, I had assumed, backed Malfoy; but he was standing with the more neutral Theodore Nott and Daphne Greengrass, looking to be at odds with Josephine... Ah, no I see. He _did_ back Malfoy, but his older cousin had forced him to stay neutral for the duel because Prefect Zabini had no doubt I would win. (I mean, if one can almost make one’s opponent pee by shaking their hand, there’s a good chance one will win.) If Zabini were seen on Parkinson’s side, he’d take a hit...

_Nice of her to look out for her little cousin._

Because I was going to win, and I didn’t need my damn Sight to know that. It was almost sad, because this was technically a duel between a 30-year-old and a 12-year-old. I was _much_ more collected than she would be, though her spell knowledge _might_ outclass mine; she’s old, pureblood money, after all... 

“Begin.” Josephine Zabini called calmly; and she didn’t even flinch when the first spell was screeched out.

“ _Incendio!”_

Ah, fire. Cute. Must’ve remembered my threat to her precious owl.

I side-stepped with grace, though my heart with pounding with adrenaline and I’d never been in a fight in my life. Either lives, really. Verbal spars were one thing — fun — but dueling was a bit...

_More fun._

A grin threatened to distract me; I hoped it was as frightening as Zabini’s.

“ _Expelliarmus!”_ Parkinson screamed again.

I laughed as I spun out of the way on my heel, wondering if I were a little too Dark (for Alby’s tastes) because I was enjoying her face twisting into desperation. Silly, really; for all she knew, I was a first year with an arsenal of first year spells. Perhaps the fact that I looked very, _very_ condescendingly amused at her efforts was making her doubt herself.

As was the goal, y’know?

“ _Immobulus!”_

Really? The _Freezing_ Charm?

I ducked under the spell and called out mockingly, “I thought you were a pureblood witch, Parkinson, shouldn’t you know more spells than you have brain cells?”

_God, I’m so clever in this life, it’s fucking BEAUTIFUL._

A scream of rage and my spidy-senses were _tingling._

“ _Protego. Protego. Protego.”_ I cast in rapid succession, my indigo-silver _purring_ with satisfaction; it was meant to be used to help me, it had felt trapped when I was angry and scared and I wouldn’t let it out, with visions and nightmares. Now it was set free.

Her spells bounced off my shields and she gaped, and that’s when I moved.

“ _Expelliarmus! Flipendo! Rictumsempra!”_ I cast slowly at her legs, trying to tie her up. It worked, and she was still for a moment, trying to regain some balance. “ _Furnunculus.”_ I hissed with glee, watching as she screamed and painful boils sprouted all over her body.

She stumbled towards me (“ _EVERTE STATUM!”)._

I dodged and cast. “ _Impedimenta!”_

She managed not to trip and screamed out, “ _Locomotor Mortis!”_

It _reeked_ of desperation. I almost wanted to let it hit me, see how weak it was, but it would be better if I didn’t take a hit at all... I wanted to cripple fucking Malfoy’s reputation, after all, and Parkinson had given me an opportunity to do so in one swift motion. Or, at least, get others to look at me with something more than the ‘Ew-it’s-the-bloodtraitor-shall-we-wrinkle-our-noses-and-plan-needless-revenge?’ sorts of glances I was used to (ignoring).

“Oh, you’re not even making this fun.” I muttered under my breath, jumping over the curse and shouting out, “ _Incarcerous,_ dammit.”

Ropes shot out of my wand and tied her legs together, and I didn’t even need to use the Disarming Charm because she dropped her wand and it rolled off to the side. I looked at Zabini, but she shrugged — Pansy was neither unconscious nor dead, so she needed to yield herself — and I walked forward, feeling eyes on me as I did.

“Yield, for Merlin’s sake, Parkinson.” I said, rolling my eyes.

She hissed at me, “Not to a _Weasley!_ Your kind’s worse than _Mudbloods!”_

I frowned. (Since Hermione was my friend and future sister-in-law, I didn’t like the word.)

“I mean I _knew_ you weren’t smart, but _really?_ Will you yield if I break your legs?”

“You don’t know the curse for that, _bloodtraitor!”_ she yelled, her eyes wild.

I shrugged. “No, I don’t.” (relief in her eyes, her weak, exhausted magic sagged with it) “However, your legs are currently tied down. Want to bet they’ll break if I mutter a little _Tarantallegra_ right now?”

A shiver passed through the entire Slytherin student body. I saw Zabini’s eyes _gleam_ when I glanced back at her, and I knew she wouldn’t stop me if I followed through. Parkinson apparently saw the same and she flinched away from me as my eyes turned back to her. I was almost surprised that no one looked _all_ that horrified at the fact that I was going to break a girl’s legs; then again, the magical world seemed to shrug off such injuries, as there were potions to right little things like broken bones in a heartbeat. The spoiled little fuckers.

“Don’t! Please- I yield.” she whimpered.

With a smile, I looked to Zabini. She grinned at me. (Was she some sort of vampire or something? It was the scariest smile I’ve ever seen on a human, really…it wasn’t natural. I could see why she was a queen of Slytherin.)

“The duel goes to Guinevere Weasley.” she announced properly, though unnecessarily.

My firsties whooped and I could see a collective agreement pass through the 3rd’s and 4th’s; the upper years cleared out with many impressed congratulations called to me, which I gave nods and polite smiles back to. I locked eyes with the representatives of the three’s and four’s for a few seconds each, and they nodded to me respectfully. They wouldn’t be treating me like garbage anymore, at least, after this. To do so would just be… stupid, honestly. I’d fired off spells from _their year._ Obviously I was more threatening than they thought, so they should be very careful.

With that high note, the Slytherins cleared out and suddenly I was facing Malfoy’s little _parvus potesta_ with my firsties — Vaisey, Harper, Julius, Dietrich — at my back, all of them looking rather smug (even though Dietrich still had that poker face, I could tell).

Parkinson was being fawned over by Davis and Bulstrode, Malfoy standing behind with Crabbe and Goyle. Wilkes, Flint, Rosier, Carrow, and Flint were eyeing me contemplatively; Wilkes especially was observing me, and as creepy as his stare was, there was a pure note of curiosity in his slow-pulsing, very Dark colors. I waited until Parkinson looked at me, and felt only a _little_ bad when I saw fear in her eyes.

“Where is my diary, Parkinson?” I asked quietly, dangerously.

“Don’t lie.” Dietrich said suddenly, probably feeling empowered by the result of the duel, “We will know.”

Parkinson just shivered. She was crying, and I felt a bit more bad about that... I felt like a bully, a 30-year-old bullying at 12-year-old. She sniveled,“I-I don’t have it anymore! I got rid of it — I didn’t write in it, honest — but I s-saw you with it all the time and thought it would hurt you if I th-threw it away! It’s gone, I dumped it in the B-Black Lake!”

I closed my eyes. That wouldn’t destroy him.

Then I nodded. “That’s all I wanted to know, Parkinson. We could’ve avoided all this if you’d just told me while I was asking politely. _Solutus._ ”

The ropes slackened — something the second years had been trying to get them to do unsuccessfully — and I walked away with my friends. I didn’t look back, my jaw tight and my grip around my wand a little painful.

“That was nice of you.” commented Julius as we walked quietly back to the dungeons.

Vaisey was a bit more malicious, however. “I wouldn’t have freed her. She’s a stupid cow.”

I rolled my eyes. “True, but rude. We’ve defeated them, no need to insult further.”

Dietrich raised a brow. “I thought you hated them.”

Hate. A Dark emotion, toying with Madness. An emotion that led Tom down the path of Voldemort. I shook my head. “That’s too strong a word for me. I exaggerate, I guess, but I don’t _really_ hate them. I don’t want to become them.” _I don’t want to become HIM, when it would be so easy to..._

Julius patted my arm. “We won’t.”

Entering the Slytherin dungeons, I separated from them and headed towards the left fork, to my dorm... I’d have to organize everything the way I wanted it to, and I’d have to redo my wards. Then I’d plan out how I was going to find the damn diary — _Stupid Tom, you stupid fuck —_ in the lake before this shit became more dangerous than it already was...

But a thought entered my head, and I paused before I left them.

“Thanks for helping me practice.”

They all halted a little. Dietrich gave a nod, one that meant he wouldn’t have NOT helped. He might have a bit too strong of a poker face and he might like going off alone all the time, that boy, but he was a loyal one. Practice-dueling Dietrich had been _fun_ , because the kid was nearly on third-year material and he was _smart_ ; he knew how to trick me, and used just the right order of spells to fuck with your pace. 

Harper, for his part, grinned and laughed. Harper might not have been the sharpest tool in the shed, or have the most spells memorized, but what he did have, he used creatively; it was _him_ who gave me the idea to use elementary spells to break Parkinson’s legs. It’s not like he’d ever use such a combination, or do that much harm to someone with as little reason as I did — the insult kinda didn’t matter as much to me, who was a Muggle once, as it did to others — but still. Frightening mind, Harper.

Julius was a ridiculous _monster_ of dueling; the perfect combination of speed, strength, observation, defense, attack, you name it. He was so well-versed in battle, and knew all these strategies that dueling masters used. Very deceptively strong, this one. When I looked at him in gratitude, he flushed a little — _Adorable!_ — and nodded.

Vaisey, though. Vaisey had only been with us a bit, but I think ever since I dragged them all to play Quidditch with my family, Vaisey was a lot friendlier; Quidditch-nut, of course. But he knew the customs of dueling, and he had _raw power_ behind his spells that forced me to learn how to damn-well dodge, because otherwise his fucking spells were gonna wreck me and my shields. He was a more physical dueler, less reliant on spellfire, and that is what made him a dangerous and unpredictable opponent. And he looked nervous as I thanked them all. As if he wasn’t sure if he quite belonged here.

I grinned at him, at Vaisey.

“You can call me Guinevere, I think.”

Vaisey’s eyes, an odd hazel-blue, seemed to light up with hope. “Really?”

I didn’t miss the fact that he glanced at Dietrich after smiling at me. Dietrich’s slate eyes flickered towards Vaisey, then locked on to me. A small, curt nod and a warmer expression later, and I smiled again at Vaisey.

“Yeah. I guess I’ll call you Lucas?” When his colors shrank a little at that, I shook my head. “No, I think I’ll call you… Lu.”

“Wha- But that’s a girl’s name!”

“Too bad. And Julius is Jay now.” Because I didn’t miss how Julius flinched at his name, either, though it took me until now to really zero in on it.

Julius, rather than protesting, nodded acceptingly. “I’m alright with that.”

“You _would_ be, your name’s not girlish even if the rest of you is!” Vais- _Lu_ argued.

A month ago, that would’ve made Juliu- Jay flinch and flush in embarrassment. (There was no arguing those delicate features and that rosewood-colored hair that went down to mid-back, after all.) And Lu would’ve had a nasty sneer on his face, and some boys behind him backing his stupid insults. But Lu was grinning good-naturedly now, and Julius smiled a little as Harper beamed and Dietrich rolled his eyes fondly.

“Well, that’s that. Lu and Jay and Dietrich and Harper-” I, again, ignored Harper’s protests at his last name rather than his given one; he just didn’t feel like a Tristan, dammit! “-good night. Tomorrow will be much better, with all the respect we’ve gathered from tonight.” I said, waving.

They seemed to light up at the reminder. I laughed inwardly at their very pleased faces. When they joined my camp, I don’t think any of them knew — besides Dietrich — just how isolated I was. (I mean, why else would I be talking to Tom nonstop, if I had really no one else?) It wasn’t outright bullying, it was just… sneering remarks, judging glances, smirks when I did wrong, ignorance when I did right; all the things that made up a pariah. But that would cease now — at least, the negative stuff would — because I’d just declared that I was powerful and ambitious and I would be _better_ than them, so they should be lining up for my favor. Or they should think about it.

I really _was_ the leader, wasn’t I? Everyone would treat my firsties as they would me.

“G’night, Guinevere!” Harper chirped, leading the onslaught of polite goodbyes.

“Good night.”

“Thanks for the girly name, Guinevere. ‘Night.”

“Good night, my friend.”

That last one was Dietrich. He only called me that when he was very happy. It had me grinning into my pillow as I went to sleep, and I was able to forget that the diary was missing and I’d have to look for it tomorrow.

 

**_…_ **

 

As it happened, the sneering stopped. In the place of sly smirks (when they pranked me) and cold glances (when they thought ‘Bloodtraitor’ in their heads) were considering looks, neutral observations, even the rare nod of greeting. In Prefect Zabini’s case, she actually outright _smiled_ at me and we got to chatting about fifth-year curriculum. Of course, Malfoy and his camp seemed even _more_ pissed at me than usual; but that might’ve been because they were shown to be so much _weaker_ , especially weaker than a bloodtraitor _first-year._

Pathetic, really; or so the rest of Slytherin was thinking.

(Pansy Parkinson was still in the camp, but even I could tell she was being treated frigidly.)

So the next day was a major success, and my camp — starved of the respect they’d had before they threw their lot in with me for the sake of their academic success and now, hopefully, at least pleasant companionship — were reveling in it. In Dietrich’s case, he seemed to just be moving up in the world; elevated from the bullied foreigner kid to the friend of the oddly intelligent bloodtraitor to the second-in-command of a rising _parvus potesta_ powerhouse.

Politics, honestly.

(Times like these, I really missed Tom for some reason. I’d be able to complain about the political-ness of the House but also brag about my work, but also laugh at just how silly it was that we were all _children_ … Maybe I just missed someone I could bounce ideas off of properly, as we were more alike in mental age than, say, me and Dietrich.)

“Hello, Luna!” I said cheerfully; it was Herbology in the greenhouses, Luna and Dietrich and I were the usual three-group. “You’ll _never_ guess what I did last night- wait, no, you probably will.”

_I swear to Merlin, she’s got Seer-blood._

Luna gave me a tranquil smile. “Something that makes others fear you?”

I blinked. “Merlin, Luna, you make me sound like an aspiring Dark Lord.”

“Are you not?” Dietrich muttered under his breath.

I glared at him. “ _Not_ funny, prat.” Seriously; I _did not_ want to be a Dark Lord. I consorted with the son of a bitch waaaaay too much as it is already!

We got to working on our Spiky Bushes and Luna giggled.

“You’ve found a painting to brush your colors on.” she said, her voice a little sad.

I was immediately alert, and grabbed Luna’s hand. “We’re still fairiefiddles together, Luna — just because I’ve found some boys without too many nargles doesn’t mean we aren’t still friends. As soon as I topple Malfoy, we’ll go back to running around the woods together and such.”

Lu, next to us and having switched groups with a rather relived ‘Puff, made a retching noise.

I heard Harper mutter about ‘gross girl things,’ too, right before somehow dropping dirt all over a protesting Lu and a quietly resigned Jay.

Luna giggled at my glares towards the both of them, then raised her pale brows in pleasant surprised. “Oh! You’ve become the alpha of your swarm! Does this mean you’ve found an Umgubular Slashkilter for the pale lordling? He’s probably _infected_ now, the poor thing...”

“Infected? With that? Who’s infected?” Harper chirped, not even _slightly_ abashed at his obvious eavesdropping. I rolled my eyes at him, giving up. The kid was a fucking idiot, honestly. But a lovable one. And a strangely creative dueler.

“Loser’s Lurgy,” Luna explained serenely, “The boy. The pale boy. He might be a moon frog ancestor, now that I think of it.”

“Malfoy,” I clarified to Harper, wincing at the Spiky Bush stabbed at my forefinger and middle finger. I yelped and shoved those fingers, bleeding profusely, in my mouth, grimacing at the taste of dirt and-

“You forgot your gloves, Guinevere.” Vais- Luca- LU called out unhelpfully.

(He just wanted to use my new name; he was _way_ too proud that he’d gotten its usage recently.)

“I think I’ve just poisoned myself.” I murmured, chewing lightly on my digits.

Dietrich’s eyes widened. “Lemon and-“

“Iron? Yeah. The bloody bush stabbed me with it’s poisonous barb, and I just swallowed it. I’m an idiot, I know.”

Lu offered to walk me to the Hospital Wing — the bastard just wanted to get out of Herbology, since he hated it — but I declined and made the climb back to the castle myself. Professor Spout had looked at me in bewilderment, probably surprised that I’d made such an uncharacteristic mistake (Seeing made a perfectionist out of me), but sent me out with her bubbly blessing. I savored the coolness of October on my skin, though I wrinkled my nose at the smell of coming rain, and I was sat down in a hospital bed quickly enough.

Madam Pomfrey had me drink a minor antivenin (“What _were_ you thinking, trying to handle dangerous plants without gloves!”) and I experienced fear of a hospital nurse as she forced me to lay down and let the antivenin potion run its course. Honestly, the Spiky Bush poison was minor — the most I’d get was rashes in uncomfortable places — but I enjoyed a moment of mindless staring at the ceiling, marveling at the fact that I’d been longing for this castle since I was eleven, a lifetime ago.

Nearly thirty years ago, now.

_Strange. I should probably be missing my other family, but for some reason, I can’t bring myself to..._

It was heartless of me, maybe. But none of _them_ had been crushed by metal and leather and asphalt, they hadn’t bled out slowly holding someone else’s cold hands... they’d be perfectly fine as soon as they accepted my tragic and accidental death. Maybe pissed at drunk drivers everywhere for killing their daughter/sister, but... well, they were alive. They could move on. And at the end of it all, we’d meet again. My college debt wasn’t even that bad, with all the fucking scholarships and shit I’d snatched up. Maybe insurance or something could cover that.

I left my family in a time of peace and modern technology; we would meet again. (That’s why I wasn’t sad for them.) Then I was born into a family of magic and love; despite the war, there were plenty of reasons to love this world. (That’s why I wasn’t sad for me.)

“LYSSIE!”

I jolted up, looking around in a panic. “What!? What, who-”

Percy was standing in front of me, red-faced and out of breath, and I hurriedly passed him my glass of water. Chest still heaving (he wasn’t used to exercise, being the bookish one), he collapsed into the chair beside the bed. Madam Pomfrey promptly found us and yelled at Percy for screaming, threatening to kick him out it he did it again, but left us as Percy began to get his breath back.

“Hi, Percy.”

“Lys- I was told- _gasp-_ That you’d injured yourself.”

The damn boys. I’d bet anything it was Lu and Harper, they were always conspiring stupid things, Harper more than Lu. (I think Harper was the ONE Slytherin to lose points in Potions because he just couldn’t resist making shit blow up.) They probably wanted to see a Gryffindor prefect run through the school screaming my name at the top of his lungs. Percy was the protective type, after all. I rolled my eyes at their antics. They were _entirely_ too emboldened by the power increase last night. They had to be careful.

“I just got stabbed with a Spiky Bush, Percy. Nothing big. Certainly nothing like Ron’s adventures.”

“What about my adventures?”

I grinned as the Golden Trio showed up, curious looks on their much calmer faces.

“Your friends said you were dying in the Hospital Wing. Ron almost came charging, but I told him little Slytherins were still Slytherins.” Harry explained bemusedly, Hermione rolling her eyes.

Ron glared half-heartedly. “What? They called her Guinevere! That’s a serious sign of trust!”

I groaned. “They’re being idiots. My camp had a bit of a victory last night, and I managed to make Malfoy’s circle look like idiots. They’re giddy, suddenly being hoisted from Slytherin outcasts to at least respected entities in the Slytherin spectrum.”

Hermione looked mystified. “What exactly goes _on_ in Slytherin, Lys?”

“Nothing you’d be _remotely_ alright with, I assure you.” I murmured under my breath, but smirking anyways.

Ron made a face. “Oh _Merlin_. They’ve corrupted you. That’s a _Slytherin_ smirk!”

Percy sniffed. “I rather think that’s the demon twins’ smirk.”

Everyone seemed to pale a fraction, except for me. 

“That’s even _worse!”_ Ron moaned into his hands. Harry gave him a pat on the shoulder sympathetically.

Hermione just huffed. “Well, seeing as Lys is, in fact, _not_ dying a gory death, we should be going.” she said snappishly to her boys, then to me with a smile, “I _am_ glad you’re all right, though, Lys. We’ll see you later.”

“Bye, Hermione. Oh, if you see Ginny, tell her I’m fine, yeah?”

_She probably still needs time. She’s confused in a new environment and without me._

Hermione nodded, and dragged a waving Harry and muttering Ron away. Percy sighed, making no sign of leaving. I eyed him curiously. “I’m alright, you know.” I said to him after a bit of silence, “You should go back; I bet you were with Penelope, weren’t you?”

He blushed a little, but shook his head.

“No, I think I’d like to stay. We haven’t spoken much.”

“I guess we’ve gotten a bit complacent. It was easier when we were writing every other week.” I admitted, feeling a bit bad that I’d mostly neglected my brothers... Especially since, with the last Weasley Quidditch thing, Percy hadn’t elected to come. So I really _had_ seen my favorite the least of my brothers.

But there was _so much_ to do here, at Hogwarts, _in Slytherin!_ I’d just kicked out one of the stabilizing pillars of Malfoy’s camp; or several, really, depending on how you looked at it. Not only did I paint Parkinson as a completely useless idiot, but now there was in-fighting in Malfoy’s _potesta._ Malfoy would be trying to get his bearings back, and would probably do so by attacking the one who weakened him in the first place. And then, any 3rd or 4th could make a bid for the _potesta_ soon — if a _first-year girl_ could shake the poncy prince of Slytherin, why couldn’t they just swoop in and take up the seat that he didn’t really deserve in the first place?

Still, though... I took Percy’s hand in mine and grinned.

“Better late than never, though, right? Talk to me like you’re writing me a letter! How was first week? How’s sixth year? How’s Penelope? Are the demon twins driving you up the wall?”

Percy gave me a warm smile. “It’s a bit difficult without parchment in front of me.”

I blinked. “D’you wanna start the letters again? We _do_ sleep in different places still, and our paths _never_ cross with you being the big sixth-year Gryffindor Prefect and me being a first-year Slytherin.”

“Will you be alright with that? You might be busier than me, Lyssie. After all, it’s the academics of the first year that begin the pattern for the following. You’d best not neglect your studies-”

“Oh, don’t be so _prissy.”_ I jibed, laughing, “You’re my _brother!_ I want to keep up with you. Which reminds me, I’ve got to send letters to Bill and Charlie. They probably understand, but if I’m falling out with _you_ , I’ve probably neglected them even _more.”_

One thing I regretted from my previous life: I hadn’t kept in touch with my siblings, much, not after going to college. Didn’t want to make that mistake here, not now that I’d been given new ones. Even _if_ Ginny was being a little distant at the moment.

He nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps I ought to write them myself. If only to remind them that not all of us have forgotten their existence. I’d say that Bill might have some advice for getting the Head Boy badge...”

Oh, Percy.

Scholarly like a Ravenclaw, ambitious like a Slytherin, and protective like a Hufflepuff. 

Now I _really_ wanted to get Ginny’s boyfriend and Percy to have a showdown. Oooh, and after a big couple fight of some sort, so Percy had _reason_ to duel him to death if I didn’t kick his arse too hard the first round.

Wait, wouldn’t the boyfriend be Harry? Shit. I had to rethink this, it wouldn’t do to have the savior of the wizarding world get killed by Percy.

“Let me know when you send your letters? I’ll send mine along with Hermes, postpone Errol’s death by a few years.” I said, getting a chuckle out from Percy; it was a point of pride to me, that where the hilarious Fred and George mostly irritated him, I could make Percy laugh _easily._

“The antivenin potion has probably finished its job.” Percy said softly, “Shall we go?”

“Mm. Wanna walk around after class, catch up? I think it’s going to rain.”

“You hate rain.”

“You don’t, though.”

We walked out, with me hugging my big brother’s arm and chattering away.

 

**…**

 

I was a bit nervous. After all, this was just a guess. Also, Snape was scary.

But honestly… I was concerned.

Harper was an idiot. Wait- No, no, he wasn’t really. He wasn’t really an idiot. He just _couldn’t_ pay attention, he just _couldn’t_ sit still. He was distracted easily, he got bored easily, he liked going off and running around and yelling when faced with being trapped with me and Dietrich in a tutoring session. But it wasn’t that he didn’t _like_ school; he did, he thought magic was amazing and would sit beside me quietly watching me experiment with charms and spells, blue eyes wide and gleaming with interest. He _wanted_ to be good at school, which was why he came to Dietrich and I in the first place; but even when he wanted to be good at school, he still got distracted so easily.

So here I was, in front of Professor Snape’s office.

_Knock knock knock._

No going back now, I suppose.

“Enter.” was called from inside, the voice low and regal.

I did just that, quickly shutting the heavy dungeon door behind me. Snape’s office was just like the Potions labs, filled with shelves of odd things. A heavy desk sat in the middle-back of the room, some elegant seats in front of it and next to the fireplace; papers were flying around with magic, and I assumed he was marking essays by the irritated scowl on his features.

He looked up at me and there was a flicker of interest, and one brow raised on his dour face.

(I couldn’t tell if he had been expecting the bullied little Weasley in Slytherin to have come sooner, or if he’d been expecting the new _parvus potesta_ potential to not have come at all. Whatever the case, he didn’t expect me.)

“Miss Weasley.” he greeted curtly.

I nodded. “‘Lo, Professor.”

“Did you need something?”

“I just… wanted to know something. About Harper.”

At this point, he put down his marking quill and straightened in his seat. Full attention, then.

I fidgeted a little.

“Erm… I don’t know how to put this… Is Harper… Is there some sort of magical equivalent to ADHD or something that he has?” I asked quickly. Then I fiddled with the frayed ends of my robe sleeves, feeling stupid. “Dietrich and I are tutoring him, see, and he really wants to learn but it’s really hard for him to concentrate and he keeps daydreaming and he just bounces off the walls sometimes, which drives us barmy, but I wondered if I could do anything to help or-”

“You’re babbling, Miss Weasley.”

I felt myself redden a little. Snape was intimidating. “Sorry, Professor.”

There was a flicker in his ghostly colors. I’d turned the Mage Sight down quite a bit because the migraines that they brought, along with the Clairvoyant headaches, were just too much sometimes. So there was barely color, just a dark sort of mist, but I saw it move with interest; a little surprise, maybe, by the bristling of the soft, golden threads.

Snape blinked at me, then motioned for me to approach. Which I did.

I stood in front of his desk, feeling dwarfed and intimidated, but Snape nodded decisively.

“It is not a magical equivalent. It is simply Attention Deficiency Hyperactivity Disorder.” he said.

I blinked in surprise. “There’s no… We haven’t cured that?”

“Mental disorders are too complicated for even magic to cure, Miss Weasley.”

Ah. The brain and its chemicals. Just too delicate a balance, I assume.

When Snape nodded, I realized I’d been speaking aloud.

Then I frowned. “Can I help him?”

Snape gave me a steady gaze. “Perhaps. I am not a Healer, however.”

Madam Pompfrey. She’d know how I could help Harper out for sure. I smiled brilliantly at Snape, and then nodded. “Thanks, Professor. I’ll get out of your hair, now.” I said happily. After all, he’d just indirectly given me a way to help one of my firsties, one of the pillars of my power… Oh, who was I kidding?

Harper was my friend. It was ridiculous that he was a Slytherin at all, with how goddamn _happy_ he was all the time, how energetic and childish and enthusiastic and earnest he was. With us, anyways, Harper could be a right sassy, annoying bastard to anyone he disliked, which included most of the main _parvus potesta_ , underneath Malfoy’s wing.

“Remember your meditation, Miss Weasley.” Snape called in goodbye.

I nodded to him just before I ran out the door. Snape- Well, actually, all the Heads of House were privy to my little Seer secret. And Madam Pomfrey. They needed to be, just in case I got an attack from a vision or from a magical backlash related to a vision or lack thereof. I needed to meditate at least five hours every week to keep the visions from bombarding my Occlumency shields. But I couldn’t sink too deep into my visions that the magic would reject my foreign presence in the realm of Time and Space (or whatever the fuck the proper terminology was). If I did either, which is was quite easy to fall off-balance in this regard, my organs would start failing and I’d be bleeding all over the place. Which required teachers and the Mediwitch to know what the fuck was wrong with me, even if they had to sign a very powerful magical contract in order to do so.

(I think the contract was for Snape’s sake; so that he really _couldn’t_ tell Voldy about my power. When the fucker inevitably came back, that is.)

Anyways, back to my firsties.

They were… my friends. I guess. I mean I wasn’t sure how much I was allowed to be friends with them, since we were all Slytherins. I wasn’t too big of a social butterfly in my first life, I was actually an introvert. And then all the politics and alliance bullshit of Slytherin mucked up my views on relationships a bit more. But, really, I counted them my friends. Dietrich was a fantastic Second, always there to back me up and bounce ideas off of and count on to help me. Jay was shy and quiet and sweet-tempered, and I was teaching him how to draw while he tutored me in Defense Against the Dark Arts since Lockhart was an idiotic ponce. Lu was relaxing to be around, a slice of normality with a hint of Quidditch-nuttiness that I was just used to, and he always made sure we were alright and not stressed and not irritated with each other. Harper… Harper was a ball of energy and brightness, which he could sometimes get carried away with, but he was a good kid and it _sucked_ that he wanted to learn but just really _couldn’t._

I helped Dietrich out of his isolation, and though he doesn’t express it openly, he was so much happier with someone to return and call friend than being alone forever; he liked independence, but he didn’t like loneliness, and that I helped him become a bit happier made me glad, because he _deserved_ it. I helped Jay in the same way, in that Jay no longer had to be a bully just to fit in and not be made fun of for his hair and his delicateness. I helped Lu, too, I think; because even though he was the ringleader, he was just… Well. No one wanted to go up to him and tell him he was stupid for being a bully, and I suppose I was that someone he needed. 

I’d help Harper, too. He made friends easily, but it was hard for him to be on the same level as many because he just didn’t understand things as well, didn’t learn things as quickly.

This is why I was here, wasn’t it? To help people. A specific group of people — my family — of course, but that’s why I was here.

I think.

(I’ve put my research on Helvynya Prevett on hold, with Hogwarts and Tom Riddle and all. But I just had this feeling that my Clairvoyance and Mage Sight had something to do with her, had something to do with the upcoming war.)

 

**…**

 

“Er… do we really have to do this in the common room, Guinevere?”

I didn’t look up from my work, answering, “Don’t worry about it.”

I could already _see_ Jay blushing, despite the fact he was sitting on the floor in front of me, back against the couch. He was all curled up and timid-looking. I suppose any boy would be, when their hair was being combed thoroughly and braided by a girl. (But I mean, his hair was longer than mine was — in _both lives_ — and it was soft as fucking _heaven_ , so if I didn’t braid it, I was going to go mad.)

We were in the common room, of course. Not the _parvus potesta_ seat by the windows, Malfoy still technically had that, but in our own little, cozy corner.

“Do you think we can change the _parvus potesta_ seat to be here? I like this couch.” I muttered.

Harper barked out a laugh. “I bet we could! But it’s not very powerful-looking, it’s all in the dark and to the side.”

Dietrich sighed, sitting beside me. One of his hands was holding open a book so he could read by candlelight, and the other was holding out hairties for me. He was such a bloody good Second, honestly, this boy.

“At least people won’t be watching…” Jay murmured.

Hm. Definitely blushing.

I grinned at the poor kid, though only Lu and Harper — sitting across us and paying attention — could see it. “Oh, don’t be embarrassed, Jay. You’re having a hard time with your hair all over the place, aren’t you? Don’t think I don’t see you blowing it out of your face all the time.”

“I mean- I- I suppose, but Guinevere, my hair… Everyone says it’s so girly…”

At this I frowned. There was a very quiet thrum of hurt in his magic, which was just a misty shadow to my eyes, but it was there. Logically, I could assume children were really rude little fucks; at some point or another, every single one of my friends had been told something cruel once, including the quiet and soft-spoken Julius Rookwood, little Jay. I could guess what they’d say, and the thought of one of my friends being made fun of for being girly or gay or whatever else pissed me off a little.

“Your hair is lovely. There’s nothing wrong with it. Or you. Anyone else who says otherwise can cheerfully piss off.” I declared, still threading his hair into a rather intricate braid.

(The practice I had with Ginny, all those years, was really paying off right about now.)

There was a beat of silence.

“Sebastian Flint, right? He was calling you things? I’ll beat his face in.” Lu said casually.

“Wh- What- Wait, no, Lu, you don’t have to-“

Jay’s protests were spoken over by Harper happily, “Oh! I can help! I made a potion that makes your eyes so dry that you start crying and you can’t see, it’s really really easy to make! Professor Snape was almost impressed!”

“He would’ve been more impressed if you made the Wideye Potion like we were supposed to.”

“Aw, but where would be the fun in that, Dietrich?” I said, grinning.

Dietrich looked up from his book and glared. “We are never letting you and Harper partner in Potions _ever again._ ”

A collective shudder ran through Lu, Jay, and Dietrich at the thought of _that_ incident. Say what you will about Harper and his inability to follow his common sense, but the kid was _creative_ and it showed in Potions class. And though I was a good student, I was a bit _bored_ , which often resulted in me doing extra reading or playing around. Disinterest in consequences + Harper’s accidental genius creativity + my knowledge of Potions ingredients? It was a match made in hell, or so Dietrich muttered in our five-man-detention the next few days after that. (Even though it was just Harper and I destroying things and laughing manically, Lu was cheering us on, Jay was trying to write down what on earth we did — just in case — and Dietrich was put in detention by association.)

Lu snickered, though, despite the bad memories of the fury of Severus Snape. “When did you mess up the Wideye Potion enough to make it some sort of weapon?”

“When he partnered with me.” Jay’s voice went softly.

“Wait, that’s why you were crying that entire day? I thought it was because Guinevere and Harper somehow partnered up in Charms and managed to set your robes on fire.”

“I’m sorry about that, Jay, really!” Harper whined.

“Shut up, Lu, we said we’d never speak of that again.”

I rolled my eyes at all of them. They were _allllll_ idiots. My hands twitched; I don’t really suppose I did a good job of Occluding from the Tom Riddle diary, because it was like I was itching to write in it. Like I was having withdrawal symptoms or something, really. Right about now, I’d be writing in the diary and telling Tom about what was happening and laughing as he said derogatory things, because even if he meant them, I didn’t really, and said lightly they were rather hilarious.

_Man, you really fucked up. Maybe it’s a good thing Tom vanished, he would’ve possessed the shit out of you,_ I thought with a sigh.

A hand on my shoulder.

I looked up at Dietrich, who was as stone-faced as always, though there was a slant to his brow that meant he was glaring. “You and Harper are never. Partnering. Up. Again.” Dietrich commanded slowly.

Shite. They were talking about all of me and Harper’s adventures in magical experimentation.

I gave him a sheepish smile. “We know what _not_ to do, right?”

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, book forgotten. (Though he was still holding hairties for me)

“Why am I a glorified babysitter? What did I do to deserve this?”

Jay reached up to pat Dietrich’s knee comfortingly. “It’s okay, Dietrich.”

Ah, back to topic! I looked at Harper. “I want some of that teargas potion, Harper. We’re chucking it at Sebastian Flint and Nathan Wilkes.”

“Why Wilkes?”

I snarled a little, thinking about the kid. “He’s the scary one, always knows what to say to piss you off or put you down. Smart little bast- er, prick. Flint can think he’s Malfoy’s firstie leader all he wants, but Wilkes is the dangerous one.”

Didn’t help that the Wilkes kid had some of the Darkest colors I’d ever seen, so.

“Were you about to swear, Guinevere?”

“I have six older brothers!” I snapped, “You should _hear_ Charlie’s potty mouth, it’s _ridiculous_ -“

“The dragon-keeper, right?”

“Mm-hm.”

Lu snorted. “Well no wonder, I’d be screaming bloody murder if I had to deal with dragons-“

“That sounds like a fun job!” Harper interrupted cheerfully.

I rolled my eyes as Lu and Harper descended into some childish argument again. Immature brats. But they were well-meaning now, at least to my camp; which meant all was forgiven in my books. Ah, and then Jay’s braid was done and that was forgotten, too.

“Jay, your hair is fantastic now, take a look! _Specufio. Wingardium Leviosa. Geminio.”_

Two mirrors floated, angled so that Jay could take a look at the back of his head if he wanted. I watched in the mirror as his jade eyes widened, then crinkled as he smiled. He turned back to look at me as I dispersed the mirrors.

“Thank you, Guinevere.”

_For helping me. For defending me. For giving me these friends I wouldn’t have had otherwise._

I didn’t claim to be able to read thoughts or emotions truly, but I knew my friends well.

Smiling back, I replied, “It’s never a problem, Jay.”

It was nice to have a lazy day or two or three after our victory in the duel. I had to start looking for the diary tomorrow, to make sure it didn’t fall to any poor kid’s hands; if it did, that death was on _my head._

But for now, I relaxed in the presence of my home-away-from-home, right in the den of the snakes.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I gotta to go lab soon so here's a real quick chapter 12 for y'all. Thanks for reading and commenting! I'm almost at 1000 hits, which is super exciting. :) Enjoy!

 

 

**…**

 

I caught Ron on Halloween day.

“Hey! Ronniekins!”

He jerked, then turned a glare on me. Somewhere off at his table, there were giggles of his nickname; a girl with dirty blonde hair and a bronze-skinned girl, thick as thieves — probably Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil — whispering together. Harry, sitting next to Ron, just snorted a little, while Hermione raised a brow.

“What, Lyssie?”

“Oh, don’t look so annoyed. The more you let people see things affect you, the more they’ll use it against you.”

“That was a very Slytherin statement.” Harry commented lightly.

I flashed him a grin. “I’m a powerhouse in Slytherin, Potter. One day, you’ll see Malfoy sniveling at my feet.”

“Merlin, you’ve become scary. You were already scary, but now you’re terrifying.” Ron muttered darkly.

Turning back to him, I rolled my eyes. “This is the thanks I get for giving a bit of forewarning, hm? When you go to Sir Nicholas’ Deathday party tonight, bring your own food. Ghosts won’t have anything fit for breathers.”

Ron assumed it was a dizzy spell, though it was really just my own foreknowledge. Hermione and Harry, on the other hand, looked a tad confused.

“How do you know?” Hermione asked.

I grinned again. “Portrait spy network.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

“I gotta gather information somehow, right? Harper’s a friendly sort, he’s friends with a lot of portraits, and I’m at least known to the rest of them. They like gossiping, so I just kinda talk to them a lot and I get to learning a lot of things.”

Ron looked stupefied. “ _What?_ What do you _do_ in your House, Lyssie?”

“Political maneuvering worthy of Salazar Slytherin, of course. Information is a very valuable commodity, don’t you know? Oh, speaking of which, have any of you seen my diary?”

The stupefied look was replaced with a horrified one. “ _You have a diary?_ You- And you actually write, you know, girly things in there?”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, _yes_ , it has all the names of all the boys I have a crush on,multiple pictures of Lockhart, and my secret plan to become a rainbow princess, Ron. No, you _idiot._ It has my notes on wards, Healing, rudimentary Runes and such, lots of points of interest on dangerous entities in Slytherin — Malfoy and Josephine Zabini, namely — and stuff on my firsties. Anyone reads it, they’ll have a bit too much information for my liking.”

Hermione joined in on the horrified look. “You’re _eleven_ , you realize, right?”

“I’m a snake, and a bloodtraitor. I need to be better than everyone else if I want to survive. Don’t worry, Ron, it’s not like I’m failing. I’m a rather powerful entity, now, you know? So? Have you seen my diary?”

Harry seemed to be the most level-headed of them, and I think it was partly because he was a secret Slytherin himself and didn’t seem to mind my insanity. It honestly wasn’t so bad; it’s not like I had control over all of the Hogwarts portraits, just a few. And they weren’t spies, they were just overlooked and I used that to my advantage. Nothing that an eleven-year-old wouldn’t be able to do with a bit of creativity and persuasion/charisma, which both Harper and I had.

So Harry just smiled a little. “We’ll watch out for it, Lys. Sorry you lost it?”

“Ah, no, Parkinson stole it. I told her off, though, but she doesn’t know where it is so I’m resorting to lost and found tactics. Anyways, ta! I’ve got things to do, remember to bring your own food and all that.”

Ron groaned at the reminder of missing the Halloween feast and the other two said rather puzzled goodbyes.

What can I say? It was fun to mess with people.

 

**…**

 

“Didn’t like the party much?”

The Bloody Baron didn’t look at all like what the movies portrayed him as; no curly, crazy hair and a penchant for scaring the shit out of firsties. Instead, he followed the books’ descriptions more closely: pale robes dripping with blood, chains around his neck that clattered as he breathed, long hair disheveled and hanging limply over blank, sorrowful eyes. Ghosts’ colors were pearly and nearly as translucent as they were — the only magic they had was their existence (except for Peeves) — but I could feel an overwhelming grief in his shuddering dark colors, and knowing his story, it made me feel bad for him despite the crime he committed.

Taking a walk around the castle (getting away from the utter madness of the Great Hall in Halloween mode) probably wasn’t the _best_ idea. Dietrich wanted to go with me, but I forced him to stay for the other four. The walk was both to calm myself down and to kick out a few dizzy spells, meditate a little. It was fun to mess with people, relaxing to me, but I was still a pretty stressed kid.

I just didn’t expect to run into my House ghost, was all.

“Young, you are, to hold such power.” the Bloody Baron whispered.

I stiffened, narrowing my eyes. “What do you know of my power?”

A grim, lifeless smile. “You hold the reigns of Slytherin, girl. So young to have garnered so much... _ambition.”_

Ah, he was speaking of my status as a pillar of my House. I didn’t know that the Bloody Baron kept up with the tiny power struggles in Slytherin... Shit, I bet he gossiped about the duel. Fucking- Alby knew for sure, dammit.

However... what an information network _that_ would be...

_No! BAD Guinevere! You never base friendships off of ambition!_

The Bloody Baron would have no use for _allies_ , after all. He was dead. He’d want a friend, and I didn’t want to pretend something like that. I felt bad for him already, half-living as long as he had. It didn’t sound like a very productive time, if the Grey Lady was still as pissed as she was at him. Poor fellow.

“To tell you the truth, I didn’t really care for the power at first.” I said, shrugging, “I just wanted to bring the Git Lord down a few notches and keep myself alive. But... well, now that I’ve got the power, I’m not going to let it go easily.”

Another smile — a bit less grim and a bit more vivacious. “Strange. You dove into battle like a Gryffindor, yet triumphed over your enemies like a Slytherin.” he muttered.

I chuckled. “I was raised by Gryffindors, Baron. Not so strange after all.”

The Bloody Baron studied me, silvery eyes drawn to the wand that was clutched in my right hand. “Hm. I look forward to your performance in the _parvus potesta_ , young snake. We shall speak again.”

“If you wish, Baron.” I said politely, bowing a pureblood’s formal goodbye to him.

He sunk into the ground, floating to a lower floor — since I was on the second — and I went on. I probably should have gone back to the Great Hall, to the feast, but it was… nice. To be alone for a while. It had been… I don’t think I’d been alone like this since the trip to Diagon Alley where I slipped around near to Knockturn. Before that, it had been my last life. Surrounded by people… I loved it, I loved _them_ , but it was very, very tiring. Hard to breathe, in a different kind of way than being a Slytherin pariah.

As I walked further, I started hearing little wisps of music that was rather familiar. Well, one was. Bright and bold and sighing, music that I remembered since I was a baby.

Ron?

“Oi! Ron, what’re you-“

I had an annoyed comment on my tongue when I followed the trails of their widened eyes, and felt it die away in my throat.

 

**THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN**

**OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.**

 

There was a stiff form underneath the crimson words, the petrified Mrs. Norris. I almost fell over at the sight of it. Fucking shaking like a damn rabbit looking at the jaws of a fox. Like a coward. Had I been that complacent? Had I thought that someone wouldn’t have fished Tom out of the lake? Had I thought that I’d outsmarted Fate??

Standing behind the gaping Trio, I tried not to break down crying.

(The deep, nearly black red of the painted words almost reminded me of the colors of a certain diary — or rather, of the soul trapped inside)

_I’ve failed._

 

…

 

_Who’s going to die because of you, Lys?_

I had grilled my boys relentlessly on if they’d found “my” diary; I wasn’t going to kill one of my fucking friends, dammit. After I’d interrogated them all (I couldn’t even muster the willpower to be subtle about it), I’d enlisted Dietrich into rifling through their shit to make sure they weren’t lying. Because possessed people would, right?

I didn’t trust my Mage Sight’s lying detector abilities, not when I was emotionally compromised.

Dietrich had followed my lead, though he was a little disapproving.

“You should trust us.” he said as I cast cleaning and organizing charms to reverse the mess of the boys’ dorm, “You shouldn’t doubt us, just as they don’t doubt you.”

“But _you_ doubt me?” I snapped out, frustrated.

“I’m starting to.” he replied evenly, grey eyes narrowing. “What’s _really_ in the diary, Guinevere? It is not just notes, not if you’re so desperate to get it back. Or rather... to keep it from others.”

_Bloody Dietrich. He knows me well._

(Which I would normally be a little happy about — it was weird, but in a sorta nice way, right? — but it was a goddamn bother right now.)

He would’ve been a dangerous adversary if things had been different. But as it was, he was my closest friend in Slytherin — my _Second —_ and I couldn’t bring myself to lie to him. It was what I deserved, really, when I made friends so easily with the boys... Allies, I could lie to. Friends, though?

_I will never pretend something as important as love,_ I’d said to the Sorting Hat. There were four loves in the world (storge, philia, eros, agape) and even something like the friendship I found in my five — philia — was still love to me.

_Just because you lie doesn’t mean you don’t love them,_ a small part of me whispered.

_But it means I don’t trust them._ my greater self replied fiercely.

_Lies have many uses, Lyssie; sometimes, it’s to protect. Who’s going to die because of you, Lys? Is it going to be Dietrich, your right-hand man? Are you going to kill him because you’re afraid of something as small as_ lying?

Great. I was talking to myself now.

Sighing, I went with a compromise. I turned to Dietrich, my blue eyes hardened with the severity of the situation. “I can’t tell you everything — I’m sorry, but I _really_ can’t. But you _have_ to know... Dietrich, that book is _dangerous._ It might kill someone... the thing could ensnare Harper in _two seconds_ , and then he’d be dead, and I _can’t_ have that on my conscious!”

His magic twitched in acknowledgement of the part truth. “Where did you get such a thing from, Guinevere? Why do you have it- Why have you _kept_ it, if you knew this?”

I shook my head. “I was stupid, Dietrich. I thought I could use it — I th- I _thought_ I could outwit it. And I was! It was never meant to leave my hands, I swear-“

“So you’d only put yourself at risk? How is that fair?? We’re a team, Guinevere! All five of us!”

“But we weren’t!” I nearly shouted, trying to get him to understand. “We _weren’t_ a team at first, Dietrich — I’ve had the bloody thing since summer, and you guys were just _allies_ for the first week and a half... by the time we became friends, I was too-“

“Enchanted?” he hissed.

I snarled at the implication. “I wasn’t _possessed!_ I’m _not_ possessed!”

Dietrich glowered at me. “You act like it’s a drug.”

“Don’t you _see_ , Dietrich, that’s why it’s _dangerous!!”_ I shouted now, a small part of me thankful that I’d cast a Silencing Ward before we started, “I don’t want to have killed someone else because _I couldn’t lock a book up!”_

“Tell me what it _really_ is, Guinevere.”

“You don’t need to know, Dietrich!” I snarled, frustrated at his prodding. “Just _listen_ to me and help me find it! It’s dangerous to others, someone even _half_ as stupid as Harper could get their hands on it and _die!”_

“You’re not going to tell the others, are you?”

“Of _bloody_ course not — I didn’t even want to tell you!”

“What are you going to do when we find it?”

“IF.”

“ _Please_ , Guinevere.” he near- _sneered,_ eyes flashing, “We’re Slytherins. We’ll find your little book. I want to know why I have the feeling you _aren’t_ going to go to Snape to turn it in.”

_Because I need to know what he knows! I need to milk out every single piece of information he has! I need to study him, learn how to combat him! I need a tutor in magic that won’t hold back like Alby and won’t disapprove like my parents because I’m NOT a genius, I won’t be able to fight in this war if I don’t get ahead-_

**_I won’t be able to save my brothers if I don’t become just as dangerous as he is._ **

“There’s no one else,” I whispered to myself, knowing Dietrich couldn’t hear me with the quiet of it, “There’s no one else that can give me as much power as him. He’s the best weapon I have-” _And when I use him to take Voldemort down, it will be beautifully ironic._

Dietrich’s magic tightened in anger, coiled tightly like a snake. He gazed at me coldly. “When you are ready to tell the truth to me — the _whole truth —_ you know where to find me. I won’t tell the others about this little excavation, because it would break their hearts to know you don’t trust them at all.”

Dietrich left me in the middle of a mess, and it broke my heart a little, too.

I wondered if I’d made a mistake somewhere.

_Fuck you, Tom._

 

**…**

 

I had to turn this over in my mind a bit. After me and Dietrich’s fight, we were noticeably cooler towards one another — we tried not to let such a weakness show to the others Slytherins, but it was hard to hide dissent in the ranks. The other three were just confused as to why their leader and her lieutenant seemed to be fighting, meaning Dietrich really _didn’t_ tell them about my breach of trust. Which I should’ve expected — he was a surprisingly honorable Slytherin — but still pleasantly surprised me.

If I weren’t so confused, I might thank him and compliment him.

And yes, I was confused.

But I was getting there. It was rather shitty of me to search through the boys’ things, I guess... but if they _were_ possessed by fucking Riddle, they’d hide the diary and lie to me about having it. _If_ they were possessed. Which they obviously fucking weren’t, all I had to do was _look_ at them and know; Harper was still a cheerful idiot, Rookwood was still quietly supportive, Vaisey was still outgoing and snarky. 

So, yeah, it was on me that time... I should’ve looked at them more, paid more attention to their obviously bright colors (though they were a bit droopy, upset with the frigid air surrounding Dietrich and I).

Okay. So I should apologize to Dietrich about that. And also let them know that I went behind their backs, and apologize for it... promise never to do it again unless under duress. That should fix it, right?

...

It fucking didn’t.

The three were very understanding about it — only Vaisey grumbled about the privacy breach, but perked up again when I sighingly agreed to play some Quiddith with him after classes on Friday — and I thought that was the hard part. My apology to Dietrich was not as well-received and he was insulted when I offered to make it up to him (I think he thought I was trying to bribe him for forgiveness), and it got worse.

Rookwood was upset about it more than the others.

“What happened? Why’s he mad? What’d you do, Guinevere?” he asked worriedly.

I spluttered indignantly. “Wh-what? Why do you assume _I’m_ the offender?”

Harper — _Harper, of all people!_ — gave me a flat look. “And you call _me_ stupid.”

I glared at him. Vaisey was with Dietrich at the moment, they’d lagged behind after Transfiguration. It was the end of the day, about a week since the famous fight, and it seemed the four were tired of it. I was too, but nothing I’d Seen (a few Voldemort-battles, some classes from previous years, magical creatures mid-flight, my parents once or twice) were helping me out... though I was decidedly _not_ going to rely on my Sight for this one, because obviously I fucked up somewhere and I’d fix it without resorting to my cheaty methods. Dietrich was worth at least that.

“Harper... Tristan Harper called me stupid today...” I muttered faintly.

He grinned, looking at Jay. “Should I just tell her?”

Jay glared. “Don’t you dare-“

“Dietrich fancies you.”

_“HARPER!”_

I think I was in shock from the first one, and then snapped out of it when mild-tempered, blushes-all-the-time, girlier-than-I-was Julius Rookwood shouted irately at Harper. Only _Harper_ or the demon twins could coax out such a reaction, and I wasn’t sure about the latter.

“Er... come again?”

Jay buried his face in his hands and _moaned._

Harper — ‘cos he would always just be Harper, no one could call him Tristan with a straight face — grinned at me brightly. “You probably said something insensitive to him,Guinevere. Like, say, you told him you fancied someone else. Then he got mad, then _you_ got mad, and now we’re here.”

I blinked, looking at Jay.

He sported a guilty look. “Don’t listen to Harper — and don’t tell Dietrich you know! He didn’t want you to know! He thinks it’s just a crush, it’ll fade away by itself. Don’t tell him you know! It’ll make everything worse.”

Swiveling between Jay’s pleading look and Harper’s shit-eating grin, I could only roll my eyes and sigh. “That’s not what we’re fighting about.” I muttered.

“It’s not? Bollocks, I just outed Dietrich for no reason!”

“Shut up, Harper,” I replied immediately (I think he heard it every hour from one of us — _only_ one of us, because if anyone else said it, the four of us would go at them like protective Slytherin mothers). “But... it honestly might tie in? I might’ve done something... dangerous. Very dangerous. A while ago. It might’ve been so bad that I wouldn’t be here at Hogwarts anymore.”

Jay and Harper looked curious.

“What was it?” Harper asked, excited. “Sounds wicked!”

I shook my head. “No, it wasn’t _wicked_ , Harper. It was _actually_ really dangerous. I thought... I thought Dietrich was pissed because I lost control of it and I needed help finding it, but he might-“

“Just be angry that you’d put yourself in danger in the first place.” Jay finished.

I sighed and gave a nod. “Yes.”

Harper hmmm’ed, then smiled. “Well then!” And then he slapped the back of my head. Hard. Not like, _concussion_ hard, but I yelped in equal parts pain and surprise.

“What was that for, dammit, Harper?”

He chuckled. “Dietrich’s not the only one who’d be worse off without you. I would be, too, y’know. Me _and_ Jay — him more than me, of course. Why you’d pick up dangerous magical creatures is... well, I dunno, but it’s bad! Don’t do that!”

(Of course Harper made the jump to me picking up a dangerous magical creature. The nut.) 

I looked to Jay for confirmation and translation.

“Didn’t your parents ever scold you for doing dangerous things?” he asked.

“No?”

“Well, that’s why you two idiots are fighting!” Harper laughed, “Dietrich scolded you and you didn’t realize it! So you just got mad, and then he thought you were being difficult on purpose!”

Jay nodded emphatically in agreement, but frowned thoughtfully. “How have you _never_ been scolded for doing bad things?”

I grinned. “I never got caught.”

Harper laughed, and Jay groaned in frustration.

“You are _such_ a Slytherin.” Jay muttered.

“You’re also an idiot.” Harper added unhelpfully.

“We’re _all_ idiots, okay? Happy? Merlin... How am I supposed to fix this? Dietrich’s mad that I put myself in danger, probably also worried as hell, you two are telling me he _fancies_ me, and I don’t feel sorry at all! How’re you supposed to apologize when you don’t feel sorry?”

Harper shrugged. “You could lie?”

Jay hit him, hissing, “Dietrich isn’t _stupid._ He knows when Guinevere lies.”

“He knows when I lie??”

Jay turned to me, looking a little sorry. “Usually. Dietrich’s very observant, you know; and the fact of the matter is, you usually _don’t_ lie. Not to us, at least. It’s always puzzled us, because you’re _the_ Slytherin but you’re also the most honest person I know.”

_Clairvoyance. Mage Sight. Reincarnation..._ “Oh believe me, I’m not that honest.”

They shrugged at me.

I shook my head. “I’ll apologize for worrying him.” _But Dietrich has to understand, I have to find it. I can’t let someone else get killed — I’ll find it, and I’ll turn the little fucker in to Dumbledore... that should appease Dietrich._

Despite my shaky confidence, I didn’t think it would go over well.

Harper patted me on the shoulder. “He can’t be angry forever.”

I sighed. “He can. He’s eleven.”

“We’re all eleven.”

_True, in a way. But I should be more than that._ I thought. 

But I smiled, I ruffled Harper’s dark hair, and he seemed to glow under the attention. I had to stop loading my problems off on other people, especially these two. Too sweet-tempered, both of them, to keep complaining to. Wasn’t fair to them, either. I had to just get my shit together.

“C’mon, let’s find the others. We have to strategize; ten Galleons that fourth-year — Lucian Bole or something? — will make a bid for power this week.” I sighed, changing the subject.

“Vaisey and Bole’ve been eyeing us strangely.” agreed Jay.

“Exactly. Even if Dietrich’s mad at me, he knows we’ll be in trouble if we don’t present a united front.” I said, then I laughed. “Y’know, Professor Snape told us Slytherins to at least _present_ to be united in front of the school; now us firsties have to pretend to be united in front of the Slytherins.”

“Fronts within fronts.” Jay murmured, a little sadly.

I looked at him, but beamed and tugged on his braid. He looked at my curiously. “Like Harper said... he can’t be mad forever. Don’t worry. Something as small as a squabble won’t break us.”

“I hope so.”

Harper nudged us. “You girls are _so_ dramatic. Can we go?”

“Yes, yes; stop being so impatient, idiot.”

 

**…**

 

I saw Harry glance at a Hufflepuff, and said-Hufflepuff scuttled away with a squeak.

“Did you do something untoward to Finch-Fletchy’s pet? Set it on fire, perhaps?”

Harry gave me an annoyed glance. “Of course not.”

Ron muttered angrily to himself, explaining, “The bleedin’ idiot thinks Harry’s the Heir of Slytherin ‘cos we were there when Mrs. Norris was discovered. After the deathday party.” 

I raised a brow. “You’d think they’d suspect _me_ , seeing as I was also there and the only Slytherin actually present.”

“ _That’s what I said!”_ Hermione shouted exasperatedly, then guiltily, “No offense, Lys.”

I shrugged. “None taken. It could only boost my rep in Slytherin.”

Ron moaned something about corrupted little sisters. I smirked at him.

Harry looked at me curiously, and I raised a brow at him. I was thinking about making some sort of lewd comment — fucking green eyes made his stares so bloody intense — when he said carefully:

“Lys would be able to help us.”

Ron shot out of his misery, then narrowed his eyes. “No. We’re not dragging my little sister into-”

“Sure, what do you need?”

He gave me a betrayed look. “LYSSIE!”

I returned his look with an unimpressed glare. “Ronnie, I love you, but I go through so much more rubbish than you’d ever _dream_ of, being a Slytherin.”

“Wait- then you _really_ dueled Pansy Parkinson??”

Hermione looked simultaneously excited at the prospect of a knowledgeable dueler and disapproving of breaking Hogwarts rules. I shrugged, emulating Prefect Zabini’s vampire grin.

“Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies, Hermione.”

“Merlin, it’s like looking at a female version of the twins.” Ron muttered.

“At least I’m prettier, right?”

Harry snorted, but he spoke quickly, “We were talking last night in the Common Room — wondering who the real Heir of Slytherin is — and we were thinking we’d like to get into the Slytherin dungeons to talk to Malfoy. We think it’s him, but we want to make sure of it.”

I snickered, then looked at Hermione. “Polyjuice?”

Her brown eyes widened. “How did you-“

“Lys is clever, alright?” Ron interrupted quickly (I rolled my eyes — as if they’d clue into my Sight because of _that),_ “But can’t _you_ just talk to Malfoy yourself? Since we’re involving you and all.”

I groaned, wishing we were sitting at desks so I could slam my forehead down on one. “Ron, you know how I dueled _Pansy Parkinson?_ Malfoy’s bloody _girlfriend?_ And how I _won?”_

“You won? Nice.”

“Oh Merlin, you’re thicker than Harper.” I muttered, then loudly, “ _Yes,_ Ron, I won. So _no_ , I won’t be able to talk to Malfoy because the little git _hates_ me for disrupting his power base by dueling Parkinson into a boil-covered, sobbing _mess._ ”

Hermione gave me a chastising frown. “ _Furnunculus?”_ she asked.

I nodded. “Overpowered it a bit, she barely got out any spells after that. And don’t scold me, Hermione — rules are different in Slytherin. What I did was perfectly acceptable in Slyth society, and you should’ve _heard_ the insult she gave me that prompted me to challenge her.”

Ron stopped snickering and growled, “What’d she say to you?”

Sighing, I answered, “It seems she found out that Mum almost had to give me a core binding when I was young — she basically said that I would’ve deserved to have my magic taken.”

He snarled and nearly stormed off, but Harry asked innocently:

“What’s that mean, then?”

Hermione endeavored to explain. “There’s different types of bindings on a magical core; sometimes small children need weak ones so they don’t hurt themselves when they’re accidental magic is too powerful. But the most famous binding is the old illegal types — they were used as punishment, before, a _complete_ binding of magic...”

“Why were they made illegal?”

“It was such a shock that wizards who didn’t die from the loss of their magic all of a sudden usually went insane and blew themselves up, trying to use magic through the binds.” I explained, making Hermione wince at the imagery.

Ron huffed, face red with rage, “How dare that bloody _cow_ \- It’s one of the worst insults you can think of, right up there with calling someone a ‘Mudblood’. It’s worse than just telling someone to go die, see, it’s cruel to a witch or wizard. She was practically _asking_ for a duel, ‘cos _no one_ takes that insult without issuing a challenge.” he explained to Harry, trying to calm himself down.

“You shouldn’t call girls _cows_ , Ron.” Hermione said seriously.

My brother’s eye twitch. “Are you serious? _The cow_ insulted my sister!”

She huffed. “Even so-”

Harry looked at me, a little more sympathy in his eyes. “With what you said about magical cores, how is it that a magical binding doesn’t just kill the witch or wizard right off?”

_Smart kids that remember things... so nice. Stupid firsties, they’ve lowered all my expectations for children’s intelligence. Even Dietrich with how… how bloody prissy he’s being right now!_ (Even if I understood, it was a damn frustrating time, to be on the move for the diary and dealing with children’s drama. I really needed a fucking vacation or something. That last walk around Hogwarts before the Chamber was apparently fucking opened was nice…)

“You’d think it’d be like denying someone air, right?” I asked, happy to explain to Harry while Ron and Hermione were arguing hotly, “Well, see, magic is not just air; think of it more like blood that _moves_ like air does. The blood carries the oxygen, right? You can hold your breath a while before bad things happen to you, and this is similar. Just longer-lasting, if you don’t die straight-off. The strength of will of the witch or wizard determines how long you endure... so, really, it’s a death sentence, with a bit of torture thrown in before the end for spite.”

Harry grimaced. “And she wished that on you?”

“Parkinson did, yeah. So I dueled her. She started crying after I won, which only made me feel a _little_ bad, but she’d stolen something from me...”

“She stole from you?”

“Mm. My diary. I told you about it a while ago…” I said, wondering how the conversation got so dangerous so fast; bloody Dietrich had accepted my apology but was still a bit stiff with me, and I didn’t want that shit to repeat with Harry — I liked the kid, after all _but a young Tom Riddle stood before me._

_Voldemort — black robes and pale skin — crimson crimson eyes — Nagini over bony shoulders — graveyard? — Death Eaters..._

_“Join me.” he said._

_“Never!” the small figure replied ferociously._

_Tom laughed. It was almost nice to see, if it weren’t filled with such malice — twirled a familiar wand in his hands, thoughts flitting across crimson eyes in rapid succession. He was thinking about something, with a depth that normal people couldn’t touch — of course_ he _could, because he was a genius — a psychopath — smiling — “You are a fool, Harry Potter.”_

_Tom Riddle’s face shimmered and I wondered why his eyes seemed to flicker blue and his hair seemed to flicker red and_ suddenly I was staring at the concerned face of my big brother, Ron, who was calling my name and leaning over me. Hogwarts stone was beneath me, I was on my back, and I knew with clarity that with how murky and disturbed that vision was, it was unlikely to pass . . .

“Lys! Lyssie! Can you hear me?” he muttered, shaking my shoulders.

Oh fuck, this was bad.

Ergh.

“Y-yes. Yeah. Hi, Ron.” I said, trying to clear the remnants of the vision away ( _dark hair red eyes cruel smile pale fingers — I know that wand — small figure — strength in his voice — Chamber of Secrets?)_ and trying to stand. “Dizzy spell, really bad one… Sudden-like…”

“That’s it, you’re going to the Hospital Wing!” Ron announced, easily maneuvering my much smaller frame into a position he could support, “Harry, Hermione, you go on. She’s, erm, anaemic, I think is the word. And Lyssie’s been stupid and hasn’t been sleeping or eating. Makes it all worse.”

_Absolute bullshit._ Of course. I loved eating. And I loved this body’s lightning metabolism that just _couldn’t_ put on weight. It was a breath of fresh air after my last life, where I couldn’t build muscle if I ran for a month straight. And I also loved sleeping late; getting up early was a forced habit so that I had more time to do stuff, but I used to fuck up my sleep schedule into two three-hour intervals, once in mid-morning and once in the late afternoon. 

Though, the anemia was true. Anaemia and asthma were the curses of my Seer powers, along with my lack of stamina and difficulty forming muscles. A right pain.

“We’ll come with you, Ron. Lys is our friend, too.” Harry said nobly.

Ron hesitated, but he agreed and the four of us made our way to the Hospital Wing. See, this was why I liked eating. I needed to have as much strength as I could, to not collapse every time I was a bit stressed.

“I’m not bleeding or anything, I can take myself to the damn Hospital Wing-”

“Quiet, Lyssie.” Ron said, rolling his eyes.

I copied the gesture. (A good copy. Ginny and I were twins, but Ron and I shared our father’s blue eyes.) “I’m anaemic, not glass. Don’t you have a Quidditch game to prepare for or something, you and Harry?”

Harry piped up from behind, “It’s not for a few hours.”

“Well, what about class? Hermione?”

“We’ve got a bit of time before History of Magic, actually, Lys.” the girl in question said, only slightly apologetically.

Well, dammit. Concerned little buggers, weren’t they?

“Fine, fine. At least stop dragging me, you long-legged git.” I muttered, pulling myself out of Ron’s hold and ignoring the way he glared exasperatedly at me.

We walked along, then, all four of us until we reached Madam Pomfrey’s domain. The high, arched ceilings and windows were pale-colored and the white of the beds looked a slight unfriendly. It was a bit too clean for me to quite be comfortable; hospitals were always places of anxiety for me. Madam Pomfrey tutted as Ron explained that his sister had a dizzy spell — there was a glint of sharp understanding in her eyes, of course, as she knew that keyword — and as I was led to a bed for _bedrest_ of all things.

“Merlin’s beard, I’m okay. I’ve just been stressed lately.” I muttered mulishly.

Madam Pomfrey handed me a glass of water. “I highly doubt that, Miss Weasley. You’re looking pale and sickly, which isn’t good for a stressed anaemic. Can you breathe properly?”

I raised a brow, even as Hermione and Harry — standing next to Ron, off to the side, who was watching closely with his arms crossed — looked surprised to hear about my physical afflictions. “I have the breath to complain, don’t I?”

The Healer’s lips twitched, but she snapped out, “Don’t get fresh with me, Miss Weasley. Now, sit still. _Angoproferor._ ”

(A Charm for detecting injuries. I should probably learn that.)

Madam Pomfrey sighed. “I think, my dear, you’ll need to take an iron supplement for a while. You are dangerously low. Do you eat properly?”

“She only eats bread.” Ron almost _sang._

I glared at him as Madam Pomfrey began to lecture me. _Get out of here, wanker,_ I mouthed at Ron.

Hermione rolled her eyes, sent me a little smile, and then dragged both a snickering Ron and Harry out of the Hospital Wing with only a, “Well, now that’s sorted out, it’s time to get to History. We’ll see you later, Lys!” Madam Pomfrey had me drink a _horrible_ Potion — I argued for whatever the Muggles used for _their_ anaemics, but noooooo… — and then confined me to bedrest. What the hell would I need bedrest for? I had Charms later!

Grumbling to myself, there was little left to do but Occlude and/or meditate.

So.

_Malfoy sat with his circle — Parkinson’s face twisted into tears — stinging red marks and the boils. Bulstrode was patting her hand comfortingly — Davis — wand out and trying to reverse the hexes. Crabbe and Goyle looked too stupid to be thinking of anything._

_Malfoy looked_ livid.

_Stop._

_Handwriting curling and smooth — ink flowing, shaped into letters. Freckled hands — Percy smiling as large, blue eyes watched his fingers write — “Percy, will you teach me how you write?” she asked — begged with puppy-dog eyes. He laughed._

_“You always ask me that, Lyssie, Mum said you’re a bit too young right now…” — “But I want to learn! Your handwriting’s lovely.” — Precious, precious child, he knew that she was. In a rare moment of affection — bursting from his chest — arms around her, she sat in his lap and looked at the letter on the desk._

_Big, blue eyes. They shared those — used to want differently colored eyes, actually, but…_

_“Please, Perce?”_

_Stop._

_“Why did you challenge her?” — pacing back and forth — empty Dueling Corridor — “You heard the little bloodtraitor, you should’ve just said something if you were going to tell her anyways!” — “But, Draco-“ — “Did you_ see _the way Prefect Zabini_ looked _at her? I should’ve known, the stupid vampire has been supporting the bloodtraitor since the Welcome Feast. And Blaise just up and left!”_

_“Traitor.” —Bulstrode — nodding in agreement._

_Stop._

_Sunset — shining grass — no, wheat. Hands trailing through golden stems — the sky was colored in pastels —fading white clouds — neon green dragonflies kissed her cornflower hair. Peaceful silence on the field, just birds._

_Stop._

_Tom?_

_Something on your mind, Guinevere?_

_Are you afraid of dying?_

_…Why do you ask?_

_We just got a letter. Bill was hurt in Egypt. He said he was fine, but it’s dangerous, Curse Breaking. I know my family’s upset with my Sorting and all that, but… I never thought of my brother… just never coming home again._

_It’s frightening, isn’t it? How easily death can take things away. Everything you are, gone._

_So are you afraid?_

_If you work hard enough to avoid it, you forget to be afraid._

_Stop._

_Malfoy scowled. “She’s stolen my position! This is your fault, Parkinson- We would’ve had more_ time _if you hadn’t gone charging in like a_ Gryffindor! _I’d been talking with Bole and Warrington, they were buying us time to make our own attack on her and her stupid little firsties…”_

_Stop._

“Guinevere?”

I blinked my eyes open.

“And she finally gets up. No wonder you’re always up at ungodly hours of the morning, if you nap like the dead.”

I glared half-heartedly at Lu. “Disturbing Madam Pomfrey’s patients, are you?”

He grinned, slinging his arm around Harper’s shoulders lazily. “Anyone who tangles with _that_ dragon-lady is asking for it, I reckon.”

All four of them were here, actually. Dietrich was in the back — the fucking _sod_ , he was still mad of course — and Jay was nearest to my bedside, sitting in one of the chairs. Harper and Lu were between, standing.

Jay smiled. “Potter told us you went to the Hospital Wing. Anaemia?”

“We skipped the Quidditch match for you…” Lu muttered.

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, what a bloody tragedy.”

“Quiet, you.”

“You never said you were anaemic, Guinevere!” Harper said, eyes rounded with innocent worry. He trotted forward, and put a chocolate frog box in my hand. (A quick get-well present, I had no doubt, the adorable child.) “Are you going to be better soon?”

(I suspected — but couldn’t prove — that Harper was onto me. Our study sessions and long periods of being inside quietly were interrupted, _a lot_ , with walking around or playing around or going outside for Quidditch, which Lu certainly loved. It made him less… troubled, less hyperactive. Just a little. Helped him a lot. I think he knew I was doing it on purpose. But I wasn’t sure.)

“It’s not like she’ll die from anaemia. The embarrassment would do more to her than a silly thing like that.” Lu snorted.

“But she’s in the Hospital Wing! Again!”

“If I recall,” said Jay with a knowing smile on his face, “Guinevere came here for pricking her fingers on a Spiky Bush.”

Harper nodded empathetically. I scowled.

“Oh, out all my secrets, why don’t you?”

“Well, have you seen her brothers? I bet if she stubbed her toe, that prefect one would disintegrate the wall that did it.” Lu said flatly.

“Like how you chucked the broom that almost threw her off into the forest?” Harper asked.

Lu blushed to the tip of his ears. “Shut up, Harper!”

Ah, the normal bickering. I looked at my chocolate frog card and laughed. “Harper, what’ll you give me for a Merlin?”

His jaw hit the floor, and he scrambled out of a headlock from Lu nearly onto my lap. “C-Can I hold it? Please, please, please, please, _please,_ Guinevere — I will do _anything_ for a Merlin.”

He looked at the card reverently, Lu following suit with a bit less fanatic enthusiasm (it could only be born from idiocy, I swear). Jay chuckled and started sketching in a notebook I’d gotten him for his birthday and Dietrich watched all of this going on with disinterest. 

I grew a little sad, watching Dietrich; the boys didn’t act any different around me, especially after I apologized several times and went flying with Lu (I was shit at flying, so they got some blackmail material from that), and they tried to do the same with Dietrich... but it seemed it was _Dietrich_ who was pulling away, and I was reminded of the time when we were all just tentative allies, cautiously edging around each other.

Jay said in his soft voice, “I think we ought to finish McGonagall’s essay for tomorrow. I left mine in the dungeons, though...”

Harper and Lu perked up. Strange. Lu especially hated Transfiguration and treated McGonagall with similar distaste. As they trailed out, though, I realized that the little bastards set this up.

Only Dietrich was left, looking rather surprised at the situation.

“I can’t believe Harper tricked us.” I said irritatedly.

Dietrich squirmed a little. “Yes.”

What an awkward silence.

“You’re still angry.” I said.

His face hardened, but he nodded. “Yes.”

I played with the edges of my bed sheets. “I don’t understand why. I’ve tried; I’ve apologized over and over, Dietrich, but I don’t know how to fix this. I thought you were angry ‘cos I was stupid, then I thought you were angry ‘cos you were worried... but now I’ve run out of ideas and I’m going to do the un-Slytherin thing and ask for a hint.”

His eyes lost their rigidness, and he slumped a little. He walked over to the seat Jay had been in, and he sunk into it. He looked tired. “I am sorry. I am weakening our power base in Slytherin, because I-“

“Pants to the power base, and pants to Slytherin!” I interrupted, irritated, “I just want to know why you’re pissed at me, ‘cos even though I act the way I do, I’m really not that clever — I can’t even figure out why my best mate is mad in the first place!”

Dietrich was quiet. Then he said, a bit hopefully, “I am your best friend?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, _Bastion_ , that’s what best mate means.”

“But… Lovegood-”

“Is my friend, and always will be. _You_ were the one I chose to be _my_ Second, stupid.”

There was a commotion somewhere far-off... seems someone was being brought in, probably being trailed by well-wishers and friends, by the noise-level. Dietrich came to the same conclusion, and looked me in the eye.

“We will speak later, this I promise. No more avoidance. I am sorry for that.” he said quickly.

I nodded in agreement. “After I get out of this bloody bed, then.”

“After.”

I had to focus on the friends I had now, stop thinking about everything else. If I worked hard enough for them, I’d forget why, right? Then again, this was advice from a friend that I really shouldn’t be thinking about, either.

 

**…**

 

“Well, Harry, what’re you up for?” I whispered.

The dead of night. Madam Pomfrey was keeping me overnight, _I don’t know why_ , and Harry was re-growing his arm because the idiotic ponce Lockhart had Vanished it. I’d laughed when the Seeker told me, and he laughed when I grumbled at the fact that I was being kept prisoner, and the rest was history. Two kids prone to the Hospital Wing, bored out of their minds and friendly, therefore it stood to reason we’d mutter at each other so the dragon-lady wouldn’t hear us.

“Same as you, I reckon,” replied Harry, smiling crookedly even though he winced at the pain of _regrowing his arm_ , “Bored out of my mind.”

I snickered. “I suppose the excruciating pain hasn’t anything to do with it?”

“Oh, that? I’m only developing a new forearm. No skin off my back.”

“See, that’s an actual thing you need to be in the Hospital Wing for,” I complained, “I’m here because the dragon-lady is worried about my _iron._ Honestly.”

Harry rolled his eyes. Same complaint, over and over. Because I was bored. I mean, I told him a fair bit about Slytherin politics and lectured a bit more on Magical Core Theory at his behest, but I was really annoyed at being kept overnight. I had things to do! Slytherins to manipulate! Apologies to beat into someone’s head! All that.

“Never knew you were anaemic. Ron said you had asthma, though.”

I nodded. “Born with both. Sucky genetics, you know? Plus, I’m a midget. Ginny’s going to be a half-head taller than me when we’re grown, I can just _feel_ it.”

He laughed quietly at that. “Aren’t there magical cures to those things?”

I shrugged. “Most magical medicine is put into curing magical afflictions, actually. Curing hexes and curses. Anything else is mostly sports medicine, fixing injuries — like regrowing bones.” All of this, I learned from Mum, years ago.

“Really? But… I mean, I would’ve thought…”

I nodded knowingly. “Yeah, you’d think magic would cure cancer or something, huh?”

Harry looked up thoughtfully. “Yeah. I mean, at least asthma…”

“Know someone with it?”

“Eh… this kid I know did. Piers Polkiss, one of my cousin’s friends. Had an inhaler and everything.”

Huh. I think I remembered that name. But knowing that person was one of Harry’s cousin’s friends already pissed me off. I knew what kind of bastard his cousin was. Wasn’t there some fucked up thing about ‘Harry Hunting’ in the books?

“Hm. Yeah, magical society, inhalers are plastic, which doesn’t react well with magic, so we have a potion instead. I don’t keep it on me, since my attacks have toned down.” Since, you know, I’ve gotten such a hold on my magic — so it won’t attack me — and I keep quite away from strenuous physical activity.

Harry frowned. “Plastic? Is that the same with electricity, then?”

I laughed. “Yeah, it just blows up. Me and my dad took apart a bunch of electric things once, just to see how they worked, but we had to be in town. For the plugs, and so the Burrow’s magic wouldn’t fry everything.”

And really, we just chatted back and forth like that until Madam Pomfrey stomped out of her office (which was probably connected to her bedroom???) when I started laughing too hard at some ridiculous story about Harry’s aunt and uncle. She scolded us for at least a half-hour before she drew privacy curtains between us, sternly commanding us to sleep; Harry and I only got a glance at each other in before she did, one that said, _Better get to sleep before she really gets pissed._

It was nice. Easy. Slytherin politics was fun, yes, and being with my firsties was fun, but sometimes, it was nice to just kick back with Harry Potter. He didn’t look at me like a leader, expecting crazy things; he just wanted to listen and chat and… Well, it was nice not to have to think about insane magical practices and etiquette and how to break this rule and that.

I drifted away, and thought I heard Harry whispering furiously and the squeaky voice of a House Elf replying.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAHHHH I'm sorry this is very late. Why on earth did I make my update days Tuesday? I never remember to do shit on Tuesdays.
> 
> Huge, huge thanks to all commentors and kudos-ers and bookmarkers! I passed 100 kudos, it's so exciting! Thanks guys! What makes this even cooler is that I've officially been writing this fic for a year, just about now... So yay!
> 
> Enjoy the chapter!

 

**…**

 

I hate Lockhart.

Ever since he found out that I didn’t buy his fucking books, the bastard’s been on my case. When I told him bluntly that I didn’t want to waste money on the vomit-inducing shit he’d smeared over perfectly good paper, his efforts doubled. When I asked him why I should apologize to him when he hadn’t apologized to the trees killed in the making of his overpriced, vainglorious, sorry excuses for written word, his efforts _tripled_.

So today, as he called me up to perform one of his fake heroic acts in front of the class, I finally gave in and stood. I stood, packed my things away, and proceeded to walk towards the exit-

And he grabbed me.

Just my upper arm, nothing fancy. But I gave him a glare that I usually only used on half-dead insects crawling along my shoes.

“Let go.” I snarled.

“Come now, Miss Weasley, I’m sure you’re a decent actress — not as skilled as I am, I could’ve been Londontown’s star a few years back, but I declined in order to pursue my duty in fighting against Dark Forces-”

“There are few things in this world I care less for than your blindingly disgusting narcissism, _Professor_ , and one of them is when flamboyant perverts put their grubby hands on my person. So, if you would, _let go._ ”

“Now, Miss Weasley, I know you’re a bit starstruck and your first instinct is to react with biting retorts — a habit I’ve noticed in many Slytherin-geared girls — but I cannot allow you to leave my class… You’d miss _Year with the Yeti_ , which I know would break your heart as you’re financially unable to possess my books-”

I saw red.

But before I could snap out a few choice curses, the sound of a bench upturning had me blinking back to reality; my boys had all stood in righteous fury, snarling and shouting insults and threats to Lockhart. They couldn’t see him ‘cos he was turned to face me, but a flash of _something_ flitted across his face, his bubblegum colors flickering with red at the edges for just a moment before he turned to shut them up. I bit down my yelp as his hand tightened on my arm, but sullenly sat down as he recruited someone else to play the part of the Yeti in his shit books.

Wanting to avoid the Hospital Wing for as long as possible with how damn often I was there already, I muttered to the boys about needing to speak to Professor Snape about something; Dietrich gave me a significant look, but I shook my head and nodded for him to lead them to the common room.

“Professor Snape?” I called, entering his dungeon office — adjoint to the Potions classroom, though it was significantly less dangerous-looking and significantly more frightening.

He looked up from where he’d been splattering red marks on some essays, his eyes promising murder. “Weasley,” he barely managed to bite out, “What is it?”

_Lordy, and I wanted to be a teacher in my last life..._

“D’you have some bruise paste in stock, sir?”

Snape narrowed his eyes. “If Vaisey managed to crash his broom again-” threatened the stressed professor quietly.

I shook my head (fucking Lu was always doing that shit, the Quidditch nut, and he always asked us to fly with him…) quickly, then muttered, “No, this is something much worse.”

He glanced at the hand I was using to rub my upper arm tenderly. His night-colored magic rippled with suspicion. “I give free reign to the Slytherin House, of course, but I _will not_ tolerate inter-House bullying. Report their names, Miss Weasley, and I will exact fair punishment.”

Snape thought I was being picked on by non-Slytherins? Ridiculous. Gryffindors wouldn’t dare — too many protective brothers for their taste — and the Ravenclaws had stopped after I set a nasty Hex on the stupid ringleader (fucking Michael Corner, the little-), and I’d even set a few wards on Luna’s things; tracking spells would latch onto the person who dared to steal from her, and I had lots of fun with Fred and George pranking the ever-loving shit out of them.

Anyways, I suppose I couldn’t fault Snape his suspicions... the Slytherins were easy targets if one discounted my Gryffindor connections, and even _those_ were tenuous because everyone hailed Harry as the Heir of Slytherin — I was suspicious, often being found with the Golden Trio, especially after they let me in on their Polyjuice Potion plan for Christmas (they were going to Polyjuice Crabbe, Goyle, and Bulstrode; I’d lead them to the Common Room and train them in how to act like them beforehand).

Shaking my head, I said, “Better not say. You might kill him.”

Snape motioned for me to come forward; he cast a weak _Diffindo_ at the seam of my shirt’s shoulder after I’d shed the black robes, and his eyes narrowed in fury at the sight of hand-shaped bruises on my arm. Say what you will about Snape, but he was as protective of his snakes as McGonagall was of her lions.

“This is an adult’s hand.” he said quietly, applying the bruise paste with experienced ease.

I smirked. “Guess I got carried away, insulting his poncy books.”

“Is this the only injury?”

I balked as I realized he might’ve been thinking that Lockhart touched me elsewh- UGH GROSS. The fucking guy was an idiot, and a sneaky, achievement-stealing bastard, but a _pedophile?_ Fuck, I hope not for HIS sake, ‘cos if I caught him anywhere with my brothers or firsties alone, the motherfucker was going to die. _Avada Kedavra_ , right then and there.

Spluttering, I protested vehemently, “YES, this is all! Only injury! Nothing else! Merlin, I’m going to be _sick..._ I should report you to Alby for putting those images in my head, Professor!”

Snape’s magic shook with amusement. His face, however, was as bland as ever. “I assure you, Miss Weasley, this is no laughing matter. As it is, I should report the _esteemed_ Professor for child assault.”

I waved it away, nodding appreciably as Snape _Reparo_ ’d my shirt. “That’s alright, Professor, I’d rather let the year play out.” _Let him_ Obliviate _himself and get locked in a St. Mungo’s ward. Fucker._

Snape scowled. 

I smirked. “A tip, though. _Densaugeo Maxima._ A few hair-related curses would be nice, too, but I don’t know any that aren’t painful.”

He didn’t ask for clarification and I didn’t give it, I just thanked him and left to be with my firsties. They were practicing their _Spongify_ with glee, Harper was just using it so he could un-painfully slam into the walls and floor where Lu and Jay were amused by just chucking things at annoyed Slytherin passer-byes, laughing when the things bounced off of them. Dietrich had joined their game, throwing softened textbooks at Marcus Flint’s head; until, of course, Harper being the idiot he was threw a not _Spongify_ -ed book and nearly knocked Flint unconscious (Flint, who was the older brother of little Sebastian Flint, sent Stinging Hexes at a cackling Harper for that). My boys were just playing around, their wandwork was much better than it was initially, and I was scribbling in a new black diary — this one would be filled with actual notes, and not Tom Riddle.

(I studiously ignored the slight longing for his snarky commentary. I could imagine how it’d go and everything:

_Tom, I think Harper just tried to concuss Marcus Flint._

_Please tell me the boy was caught. Finally._

_He’s taken after me too much, I’m afraid. Very good at not getting caught._

_At least he’s good for something, then._

Or something of that nature. Tom would likely do that. He liked to make sure I remembered the faults of everyone around me, since he thought I went on about them too long. Hadn’t used ‘proud mum’ yet, to insult me, but maybe…

Ugh. What was I thinking? He was a villain. I was going to kill the little fuck, for possessing some nameless innocent. Boy, Tom had almost gotten me, hadn’t he?)

But the boys’ game looked too fun to miss out on, and I got up to join the _Spongify_ party with just one note to myself scribbled underneath a new ward blueprint I wanted to test:

_Join Dueling Club._

 

**_…_ **

 

It was, I believe, that particular conversation that prompted the _best_ beat-down of an flamboyant pervert I’d ever seen.

“Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent! Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little dueling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions — for full details, see my published works.”

The fucking fool went on, and I snickered as Ron leaned over to Harry and muttered, “Wouldn’t it be good if they finished each other off?”

Lu, beside me, whispered, “As if Professor Snape’ll get any spellfire from that dumb wanker.”

“True” Dietrich said, his grey eyes dancing (they were the only feature he’d led emotion slip from). “Lockhart was defeated the moment he asked Professor Snape to... _assist.”_

We five sniggered into our hands, and Dietrich and I shared a look. There had been no time for our talk; after I’d gotten out of the Hospital Wing, we’d had to beat Slytherins away with sticks (literally!) to get them away from my position of power. Someone heard the Trio talking, or someone just did a bit of research, because it got out that I had both anaemia _and_ asthma, and wouldn’t that make me a weak leader? Then classes sped up, threatening homework over the Winter Hols. And now, we had to watch Snape kick some ass.

Which he did.

Rather than blasting him back quickly, Snape allowed Lockhart to cast his weak spells and grin at the crowd winningly, despite Snape’s very _lazy_ evasion. As soon as Lockhart opened his mouth for a third or fourth spell, Snape flicked his wand rapidly, his spells silent and his eyes glinting with a streak of that famous sadism.

Lockhart’s hair shriveled up and seemed to _die_ on his scalp, his skin broke out into unattractive welts, his front teeth shot out nearly to the floor, and his hands swelled like balloons; fat fingers straightened with air pressure, he dropped his wand. There were gasps of horror from the girls, and laughter from almost everyone else. Lockhart’s embarrassment was evident and he could barely speak, opting instead to motion for Snape to take over while he retreated with all the dignity he could muster — which was very little, as my Head of House had been _merciless._

Coolly, Snape instructed us to pair up and practice dueling. When our eyes met, despite the differing colors, they were identical in that nearly _crazed_ gleam of someone who had just gotten wonderful, petty revenge.

It was hard not to like the guy when he was so obviously on your side.

After a few minutes of disastrous attempts to duel (Snape sneered, disinterested in anyone but his Slytherins; he nodded approvingly when he saw me and Dietich exchange simple spells, enacting our usual warm-ups), Lockhart returned... his hair was a bit dead and unnatural-looking, his teeth were a bit long, and the welts were only just fading, but he could soak up attention.

I cursed to myself; I’d wanted him _gone_ so that he wouldn’t force Harry and Malfoy to duel and indirectly out my friend as a Parselmouth… I don’t know why, but people were already suspicious of Harry being the Heir of Slytherin. It’s not like me, Hermione, and Ron weren’t _also_ there, at Mrs. Norris’ petrification. And Colin Creevey — who’d been brought to the Hospital Wing already — annoyed _lots_ of people.

Seems Fate had other ideas.

“Let’s have a volunteer pair — Longbottom and Finch-Fletchy, how about you-”

I took back the thing about liking Snape when he suggested Harry and Malfoy go up instead, insulting Neville Longbottom in the passing (I didn’t have much chance to talk to him this year, the poor kid). Lockhart tried to teach Harry how to do something stupid and dropped his wand, Snape whispered to Malfoy with a smirk and I knew it was _Serpensortia._

“-do what I did, Harry!” Lockhart said cheerfully.

“What, drop my wand?” he asked, a little panicked-looking.

“Three — two — one — go!” Lockhart announced gleefully, ignoring Harry.

Malfoy went ahead with his, “ _Serpensortia!”_

I wanted to face-palm as a long, black snake erupted from the end of his wand. The serpent seemed irritated and it reared up aggressively; I watched it in fascinated horror and knew Snape and Lockhart were speaking, and narrowed my eyes as Lockhart threw it up into the air with his pure incompetence.

Finch-Fletchy... there he was. I slipped away from my friends and “accidentally” jostled him out of the way — wasn’t hard, when he was scared shitless of the Slytherin who hung out with Harry Potter and stuff, never mind my bloodtraitor status — and when the stupid snake landed, I faced it without fear. It was about to attack, and I made a show of looking coldly at it while I raised my wand.

“ _Petrificus To-_ ”

Too late. I didn’t get to finish the spell before a strange hissing sound rose above the noises of the crowd, and the snake sunk into submission; Harry had spoken too quickly for me to resolve this, and his secret was out. I turned to him, a brow raised in exasperation while he grinned at me. Perhaps I could salvage this a little?

“Thanks, Harry.” I called, rolling my eyes, “I’m just a regular damsel in distress, hm? Not like I was going to see what a snake looked like in a Body-Bind Curse or anything-”

“What do you think you’re playing at?” came a shout from beside me.

What the fuck? That’s canon! Justin Finch-Fletchy said that, even though he wasn’t even the one being attacked? He even stormed out like in the books, and the whole hall went crazy with whispers as my brother pulled Harry away.

I snarled in frustration, finding Dietrich and jerking my head at the exit before heading there myself. I didn’t manage to catch the Trio as they shuffled off with Harry, but I met up with my five and we stalked back down to the dungeons, claiming our usual abandoned classroom where we practiced the dueling and whatnot.

Sitting on a desk, I sighed. “This is going to blow up in his face.” I said.

“Potter’s?” Harper asked, sitting beside me after throwing his stuff down.

I nodded; all of them took a seat somewhere, Dietrich in a chair neatly, Lu on the floor, Jay on another desk, Harper against the wall. 

“I know you don’t care for him, but he’s my friend. I might have to stick by him these next few weeks...”

Dietrich frowned. “Will that not make it worse? You’re a Slytherin.”

Harper blinked. “Yeah, if you’re seen with Potter too much, they’ll think you’re aiming to be his Dark Lady or something!”

I groaned. “Shut up, Harper.”

Jay, however, nodded his approval. “We can look after ourselves a while, Guinevere.”

Lu looked at Jay with a raised brow. “I don’t understand how you’re related to ex-Unspeakable _Augustus Rookwood_ when you’re so... fluffy.”

Everyone in the room quieted, knowing that Lu wasn’t talking about Augustus Rookwood being an ex-Unspeakable. _Ex-Death Eaters._ I thought. However, before I could change the subject, Jay did with for me.

“Fl... fluffy?”

“What’s with that reaction? You should punch Lu in the nose for that!” Harper demanded.

“Shut up, Harper.” Lu muttered.

I slapped my forehead with my hand, but looked kindly at Jay. “Thanks, Jay. I’m glad _someone_ understands that I’ve got friends outside of you all. We might take a hit for this, though. Maybe not as bad since it’s expected for me to hang about the Gryffies, but still. Is that okay?”

Lu sneered. “As if we’d let anyone grab our hard-earned power. I actually can’t believe the prefects ignored us before.”

“Well, they didn’t want to help us, so they just pretended there was nothing wrong.” Harper said cheerfully, “Lots of people do that. Also, has anyone noticed that Malfoy’s been really mad? And Parkinson’s been sad.”

Lu threw a quill at his head. “We were talking about Slytherin politics, and now you want to talk about _feelings?_ Why don’t you and Jay go braid each other’s hair or something, you idiot, Harper.”

I narrowed my eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with hair-braiding.”

“Of course not, Guinevere.” he said quickly, hazel-blue eyes widening a little.

Jay laughed. “If you grew out your hair, Lu, you might understand.”

“That’d get in the way of Quidditch, Jay! I honestly don’t know _how_ Bell manages to fly around without tying her hair up, is she blind??”

Dietrich nudged me out of the ensuing argument, muttering quietly, “Malfoy _has_ been quiet lately. A bit too quiet.”

“Do you think I went too far?” I asked, feeling a little bad.

He snorted. “Not _that_ quiet. Still prances around his circle like he is still a little prince. He irritates them all, now. No, he is not isolated, but he has not made a bid for power. Biding his time?”

“Hm. We’ll see. I don’t want to fight Malfoy again. He made it hard for us; Parkinson’s little blunder was a blessing.”

“I know. She has been outcasted for it.”

“Well, bloody hell. Now I feel bad. Thanks, Dietrich. Erm…” I looked at Dietrich, but he shook his head slowly.

“You don’t talk about grown-up things when the children are present.” he muttered.

I laughed. With the promise of a heart-to-heart, Dietrich was a lot less frigid and was reintegrating himself into the group. He could even joke around a little now, though we had tense staring contests sometimes.

“Fair enough. By the way, have you kept a tally on how many times we’ve told Harper to shut it?”

Dietrich rolled his eyes. “Eighty-seven.”

“Nice. But you only started counting last week.”

“I fear that the novelty has worn off.”

“Oh, it wore off the third time, believe me!” Harper laughed.

Me and Dietrich looked at each other. I grinned. 

“Shut up, Harper.” we said together.

 

**…**

 

“Yo, Heir of Slytherin.” I greeted.

Harry gave me a dirty look. I grinned in response.

Justin Finch-Fletchy and Nearly Headless Nick had been petrified and everyone was running at the sight of Harry Potter. He was sitting alone for some odd reason (where were my brother and Hermione?) so I moseyed up to him with my hands in my pockets.

“You look tired, Lys.” he commented, yawning.

“Hm. And _you’re_ yawning.” I replied, sitting down on the bench beside him.

Where Harry was probably freaking out about his Parselmouth status, _I_ was losing sleep over the book. I had managed to deal with some of the nicer portraits and asked if they’d seen my diary (“It’s terribly embarrassing, you see — I got it secondhand, it used to belong to a T.M. Riddle, if you’ve seen someone with it, I’d like to know.”) and I had my brothers’ word that Ginny was acting _fine_ , so it wasn’t her. I couldn’t keep track of everyone in the fucking school, but anyone who called me Lys or Guinevere — anyone who mattered, basically — seemed to be Horcrux-free. It was frustrating and I knew better than to ask for help after the way Dietrich blew up in my face, and though he was a bit better now, he was still a bit colder than we’d been before.

Fucking hell, I was _this_ close to just blurting it all out to Dumbledore… If I didn’t know that would hurt — Clairvoyance gave me a bit of a Seer intuition that told me whether I’d die if I did things now, which was nice — I might. I had to work around Fate, not _strong-arm_ her. Telling was bad. Direct action like that was bad. In fact, I’m honestly not sure why I hadn’t been killed for taking Tom in the first place. Probably because it was fated that I’d lose the diary, too.

“So. How was your talk with Alby?”

I’d heard that Dumbledore called him up after the double-petrification of Finch-Fletchy and Nick.

Harry chuckled at my nickname for the Headmaster. “Uneventful. Oh, but I saw his phoenix... erm, die.”

“Oh, Fawkes finally had his burning day? Bloody chicken has been _gross_ looking lately. Did it scare you? Stupid Alby likes to trick people into thinking they just killed his turkey by leaving them alone with him when he’s close to burning day.”

Harry mouthed ‘Stupid Alby’ to himself before shaking his head and replying, “Yeah, I thought I’d just witnessed Professor Dumbledore’s familiar spontaneously combust.”

I laughed, then nudged Harry excitedly. “Polyjuice done yet?”

He brightened. “Yeah, it’s pretty much ready. Meet us near Myrtle’s bathroom tomorrow?”

“I’ll call you all names and if you don’t grunt and walk away, I’ll assume it’s not the real Crabbe and Goyle.”

“And whoever Hermione is.”

“Yeah, and her.” I said, knowing that poor Hermione was going to have a difficult time of it, putting _cat hair_ into her Polyjuice. But then again… it’s not like it would change much, if Hermione were to succeed… Yeah, look at that, no visions of doom! No death for me, then. “Harry, make sure that the hair she got from Bulstrode is actually hers. Bulstrode’s got a cat, and you _don’t_ want to see what’ll happen if you mix Polyjuice and animal fur.”

Harry blinked at me curiously, but nodded. “I’ll let Hermione know. Thanks.”

I shrugged. “Should be fun. Getting one up on Malfoy always is.”

He grinned, asking curiously, “Are you _really_ the Slytherin leader now?”

“Not the leader. Not yet. But did I really kick Malfoy’s arse? Yes. Yes, I did.”

He laughed. “I wish I’d seen that!”

“It took a while, lots of really boring Slytherin politics, and a duel with an idiot; not all that interesting. Only the duel was _somewhat_ entertaining, and that was because I told myself that if I took spellfire from _Parkinson_ , I’d forfeit.”

Harry laughed at the sheer cockiness of it, and I laughed because I was happy the kid was okay — this Heir of Slytherin shit would take it’s toll on anyone. I had hugged Fred and George hard when I saw how they joked around when Harry showed up (“Make way for the Heir of Slytherin, seriously evil wizard coming through!”) and had hit Percy on the arm when he told them to stop (“Percy! They’re trying to lighten Harry up, lay off them!”) 

Ginny seemed to still be starstruck, though, so she took the more Percy-route and avoided Harry usually. Oh, that girl. At least she’d found her niche of friends. If only Luna weren’t so adept at sneaking off, I might be tempted to shove her in there, just so I know she was protected properly.

I looked up to see Ron and Hermione approaching while arguing, and nodded to Harry with a wink. “That’s my cue. Don’t know how you stand it, so I think I’ll be off.” I said, rising from the bench.

_When they’re older, there’ll be soooo much great sexual tension — I’ll be able to poke fun at Ron for it,_ I thought with a snicker, waving at Harry as I walked away.

The firstie boys were all doing their own thing and the Golden Trio seemed to be doing well, so I slipped outside (it was cold, but Warming Charms were fantastic) and sat near the icy Black Lake, under a willow-ish tree.

I made it a point to go meditate every day and let the visions swarm me for a bit so it wouldn’t _build up_. That just sounded dangerous, and headache-inducing. My Occlumency was going well, though I still hadn’t gotten to the point of building a proper mindscape. (After all these years, too…) Shields were strong, though. Fucking Voldemort would have _nothing_ on the tenacity of my Clairvoyance. Maybe I’d be able to give Harry a few pointers when he got to his fifth year.

Heh. I’d be better than Snape, that’s for sure.

_Music. I knew this music… Tchaikovsky — It played softly but vivaciously, and the Great Hall was filled with golden light. Christmas trees adorned with ridiculous amounts of baubles. Snow on the windows. Wizards and witches waltzing around in dress robes and dresses — the Yule Ball._

_Cedric Diggory passed by — Cho Chang on his arm — dancing — and Hermione and her partner passed in the background. Hermione looked very pretty, and she was laughing — blurred crowd, white noise — Ron and Harry were up and about, but they didn’t look very irritated or miserable... rather, both looked happy. Dancing with girls — not the Patil twins.. — faces kept blurring, though I couldn’t tell apart things, colors were blending together, but there was an overall happy air about the whole place..._

_Stop._

My eyes opened.

“Hmph. You two probably only got dates ‘cos I helped. Idiots.” I muttered, smiling.

I didn’t always have nice future visions; they were usually a lot less clear, and a lot more bloody. The present were usually very interesting... and the past was a mix of information that I needed and information that I’d wanted. Focusing on a subject was easy enough, but with how confusing and flighty my visions worked, I never really understood why I was seeing what I was seeing. It was probably random, but for some reason, I kept thinking that Fate was showing me things on purpose. Trying to tell me something. 

Then again, I was an arrogant motherfucker and I was probably overstating my importance to Fate... oh wait, no I wasn’t, _I was the character that wasn’t supposed to be here._

In any case, the fucking visions never showed me _who_ was opening the Chamber.

Never.

I once Saw the petrification of Finch-Fletchy and Nick, though. It was uneventful and the basilisk’s form was blurred to me (likely to protect me), but the fucking thing was _huge_ — how it got around the fucking pipes, I don’t know, that was pretty bullshit — and Finch-Fletchy was frozen in fear before he was frozen by the stare. Nick had been very confused, facing him at the time, and then he turned and let out a small sound of surprise before he, too, was petrified.

It was a bit disturbing, actually.

Speaking of ghosts, I managed to speak to the Bloody Baron again. It was currently Christmas Eve, which was apparently not as celebrated here in Britain than it was back in America. I was the only one going around, when I spotted the pale form of the Baron skulking around the dungeons.

He spotted me, too, and floated on over.

“Young Slytherin.” he said in greeting, his voice rusted and raspy.

I smiled; he wasn’t that scary if you prepared yourself for him. Otherwise, if he ever felt like popping out of a wall, I wouldn’t even judge you if you shit yourself. It was fucking PT all over again.

“Hello, Baron. I don’t suppose you’re alright?”

He merely tilted his head to one side. “We ghosts of Hogwarts feel the absence of Sir Nicholas more keenly than you students do.”

“Except for Peeves?”

“Nay, Peeves is more frightened than most.” came the whispered reply.

I hmmm’ed thoughtfully, thinking about the dungbomb party the poltergeist had thrown yesterday evening; Percy apparently had come across Peeves harassing some third-year ‘Claws and it just got worse from there. His weekly letter had come smelling slightly of dung and his writing had been as sloppy as it got (which was still prettier than my nicest penmanship) with his irritation.

“You wouldn’t happen to know who’s opening the Chamber, would you?” I asked.

The Baron gave a bloody sneer that almost made me shiver. “You would like to know, would you? For what purpose, young one? You are pureblood, Slytherin, friend to Harry Potter... you are the safest you can be.”

My eyes narrowed. “So the Slytherins are gossiping? I guess it was too much to hope for, that my firsties and Zabini would keep them off my back while I threw my support to Harry.” The Baron didn’t reply, but I could guess. I rolled my eyes. “Malfoy, hm? Spreading slander, I suppose, to debase me.”

“So politically-minded, for one so young.” he said quietly, his eyes looking a bit more alive than before; almost _proud_ , I thought.

I gave him a grim smile. “I don’t feel young, sometimes.”

“Nay, the Sovereign never do.”

Stiffening in shock, I looked at the ghost sharply; I didn’t know how to exorcise a ghost, but if this motherfucker tried to spread my shit around out of boredom or something, I’d learn.

The Bloody Baron shook his head. “Impulsive,” he rasped, almost _tutting_ at me, “I am a Slytherin, girl. There is no boon I can be offered in exchange for such precious information.”

I titled my head to one side, looking pointedly at his chains.

His face was sad and solemn, and for a moment I thought I saw a shadow of a smile _So rare because he was always striving to be better — for her. He used to smile for her — she never saw. She never saw anything around her — trapped in the shadow of her mother. It used to make him burn with passion — he burned too bright and it was his hands,_ his _knife that ended her breathing forever._

_He wailed — he’d killed the woman he loved the most — her ghostly form, her eyes blazing with everything but forgiveness — never foregiveness — he wore chains — her eyes followed him accusingly — he thought he had wanted her to look at him, but not like this, not like this — and so he took that same knife, rusted with her blood, and threw it into his chest over and over and over and over and over and over and over-_

_Stop._

The Baron hovered there, staring at me with a knowing look in his eyes.

“There is only one thing I want.” he whispered quietly, taking his leave.

I stared after him sadly, wondering why anyone glorified immortality if it left everyone heartbroken in the end. When I slept that night, I dreamed of a man who wanted a woman to look his way, and when she finally did, he couldn’t even kill himself to escape her hateful eyes.

(The Bloody Baron became my ally, I think.)

The next day, I was greeted with numerous gifts from friends and family, and laughed when I saw such a pile; being a middle daughter of a middle-income household before, it was _so gratifying_ to see a great big pile like this. A present from every brother, my parents, my firsties, Prefect Zabini, Alby, the Golden Trio, Luna, and even a little thing from Ginny. I had, of course, sent those same people presents, along with a gift for my Head of House and hand-drawn and written cards to my professors, for good measure.

I tugged Mum’s dark purple Weasley sweater over my head (there was an ‘L’ instead of a ‘G’ because, really, Lys was the name I cared about and the people I called mine called me, except for Luna, who was odd about that sort of thing) and I relaxed into comfortable jeans and sneakers; the bloody school uniform was a pain to wear — fucking skirts and fancy shoes, ugh — and I relished dressing in my usual things over the Winter Hols. With that, I made a note to owl my boys, as they’d all gone home, and headed to the Owlery after writing some quick, but warm, letters to each of them.

It was probably time for me to meet the Golden Trio near the Chamber — I mean, oops, Myrtle’s bathroom, that’s still a _secret_ — so I waited around there, chatting with the portraits nearby and asking them questions about magical painting and drawing.

When I spotted Crabbe, Goyle, and Bulstrode, I knew instinctively that it was the Golden Trio, but I went with the safe option anyways.

“And what are you three doing so far from your minders?” I asked, my voice frigid and condescending as it always was to _them_ , “You ought to hurry back down to the Common Room, Thing 1 and 2, Malfoy’s sure to be missing his arse warmers.”

A Goyle wearing Harry’s glasses blinked. It was Goyle’s voice that answered, too, which was weird. “Merlin, Lys, you’re scary when you’re not on our side.” Harry-Goyle said, looking nervous.

Ron-Crabbe nodded furiously. “Don’t _ever_ let Mum hear you talking like that, she’ll pull you out of school. You were practically Malfoy.”

I grinned. “A short, redhead, pretty female Malfoy, at least?”

Hermione-Bulstrode snorted. “By the way, thanks for the tip, Lys. I think I really _did_ have cat hair the first time.”

I patted her arm (and managed not to shudder in revulsion, mentally telling myself it was just Hermione). “Any time, Hermione... Bulstrode? Ergh, this is confusing. C’mon, follow me back to the common room — and don’t react to anything I say, okay? I might have to throw a few insults here and there if anyone sees us, to keep up appearances.”

With their agreeable nods, I led the three of them down to the Slytherin Common room with few incidents; there was a ‘Claw and then Percy showed up at one point, but he’d gone away after I shooed him off and assured him that I was playing nice with the stupid lugs following me back, annoyingly enough. He’d been reluctant, but trusted me to handle myself. Eventually, though, we hit a nice empty corridor and I slowed to walk with them.

“It’s actually quite uncomfortable to be walking with Crabbe, Goyle, and Bulstrode.” I noted airily, “I feel like I’m going to turn stupid any moment, and have to remind myself that it’s just you three.”

Ron-Crabbe snorted. “You even _insult_ like a Slytherin. I can’t believe we’re related.”

I grinned at Crabbe (whoa, weird thought). “You can’t say that it’s not nice, though, having a Slytherin on your side. I’m taking Malfoy down, you know — and I _know_ that he hasn’t been as bloody annoying as he’s usually been because of it.”

Hermione-Bulstrode rolled her eyes. “I don’t understand... it sounds like you’re constantly battling each other, you Slytherins. This is a school, not a warzone.”

Harry-Goyle nodded. “It’s like you’re all enemies, the way you talk about it sometimes, Lys. But I’ve never seen a Slytherin argue with another Slytherin, I don’t think...”

“Rules set by Professor Snape,” I explained, “Present a united front. And yes, Herm- er, I mean, Bulstrode, it’s a battle. Political battle, though I had to show off my magical strength to _really_ be a contender. And half of that win is because Prefect Zabini is backing me, ‘cos she wants the full set of the better control.”

“The better control?” Not-Bulstrode asked.

I nodded. “Well, there’s seven groups; one for each year, yeah? The better control, _magnus potesta,_ is the fourths through sevenths, the lesser control is third and down. Malfoy took the lesser control, the _parvus potesta,_ but he wanted more power, so he used Daddy-dearest to get the 4ths, too. It pissed Zabini off, so when _I_ stepped in and threatened the lesser control from Malfoy, Zabini helped me out.”

Not-Crabbe and Not-Goyle looked stupefied. I laughed.

“There, you look like the real deal now!” I said.

Not-Bulstrode just shook her head. “I will never understand you Slytherins.”

I shrugged. “It’s fun, actually. And it’s practice, for the real world; Hogwarts is the training ground and the matchmaking stage. Lotta the pureblood girls are searching for matches right now, getting ready to step into the world of high society for females.”

“Because girls can only be powerful figures under their husbands?” Not-Bulstrode asked, her eyes narrowing with anger.

Another shrug. “So they say. And- _I’d advise you to step away from me, Bulstrode._ ” The smile and casual manner slid from me, replaced by ice. Not-Bulstrode looked a bit shocked, and I sneered. “Are you deaf as well as ugly, Bulstrode? Get out of my face before it becomes contagious.”

Shocked and hurt-looking, Hermione-strode stepped away. Ron-Crabbe looked angry, but a familiar, drawling voice called out:

“Having fun without me?”

I was impressed with how quickly Harry-Goyle stepped into character, nudging Ron-Crabbe and taking their customary places on either flank of Malfoy. Hermione-strode stepped back into that protective circle, her eyes clearing of hurt and replaced by understanding, right before she wiped it away with the dull look that Millicent Bulstrode usually wore. I stuck my hands in my pockets and gave a bored look to Malfoy, who was looking very superior with familiar faces surrounding him and outnumbering me.

He nodded to Bulstrode, looking irritated. “You said you were going home.”

A flash of panic; I saved the day and snorted, answering before Hermione-strode could say anything, “I suppose you pulled a Bole and forgot something, Bulstrode. Funny, you second-years are _so_ very forgetful.”

Malfoy sneered. “At least I haven’t forgotten my place, _bloodtraitor._ ”

I smirked. “Have you forgotten that my position, bloodtraitor or not, is still equal to yours, Malfoy? Or, maybe, you’ve forgotten the thrashing I gave your girlfriend when she thought she’d challenge me? Sometimes, really, I think you’ve forgotten Parkinson all together — or is it because you’ve realized that she would cost you your throne?”

“That’s right, Weaslette, _my_ throne. Have fun trying to pry it away from me. Haven’t done it yet, even with Zabini helping out, have you? Mummy Zabini won’t hover over you forever, you know. Does she tuck you in at night like your fat mother does?”

I saw Ron-Crabbe clench his fists. This might be dangerous; this was honestly a tame fight, when it came to me and Malfoy. If it got anywhere near the level we were usually at, Ron might snap (temper, temper, brother-dear...)

“Even throws in a goodnight kiss, actually.” I said nonchalantly, “I suppose I’m a bit better of, compared to you, Malfoy — now that Parkinson’s out of the picture for yourself, do Crabbe and Goyle alternate? No, don’t answer that, I really don’t want to think about what you boys do behind closed doors. Anyways, I’d stay to chat, really, but I’ve got letters to send. Bye-bye, Malfoy, henchmen.”

I did my customary turn-on-the-heel (which wasn’t _nearly_ as impressive as it usually was, as I wasn’t wearing my robes) and wondered what I should do... Oh! I’d visit Fawkes. It was Winter Hols so Alby wouldn’t mind.

With that, I skipped my way there, humming under my breath.

 

**…**

 

Valentine’s day. Everything was going alright until then.

Why, _why_ would Lockhart do this. Why... _why why why_ would the bastard pay fucking _gnomes_ to dress up like cupid and torment students like this? Did I mention that I hated Lockhart? I hate Lockhart.

I felt so bloody embarrassed.

It was times like these that I missed my old brown skin, and the lack of blushing that came with it.Another gnome marched up to me, and I _squeaked_ and bodily threw Harper in front of it. Harper cheerfully took another valentine for me (“I’m Guinevere Weasley’s inbox, I’ll be taking any and all valentines from any and all cupid-dwarfs!”), and Jay patted my arm sympathetically as I moaned into Lu’s back, whom I’d been hiding behind the entire day.

“Why, why, _why, why,_ ** _why._** _”_ I whimpered, blushing furiously.

In my last life, I’d _never_ gotten a valentine... that’s a bit of a lie, I had a boyfriend one year, but it was a bit of a fading relationship anyways- NOT the point right now! I’d never suffered through this, having people watch me as fucking dwarves kept chucking things and sweets at me. Why me? I literally was a _child._ Yes, I suppose I was kinda nice-looking and I did treat people politely, but _really?_

When Lockhart made his announcement, Zabini had pulled me over.

_“Guinevere, you better be ready.” she said, looking annoyed, “You’re sure to get lots, with how friendly you are to everybody you talk to and how pretty you are. Careful, though, because I wouldn’t be surprised if half of your stuff was hexed; you’ve got enemies all over the place.”_

Harper trotted over to me, in his hands a few valentines, held out to me.

“Here, Guinevere! You got more.” he chirped.

I glared at them suspiciously. “Put them with the others.” I muttered.

He shoved them unceremoniously in his bag, and we five walked to the DADA classroom for Lockhart hell. I’m pretty sure that we set the record for smallest Slytherin class, with only the eight of us (and it was unheard of, usually, for there to be only _one_ of a gender), but there were plenty of our year-mates in the other Houses. I dearly hoped these valentines were just from them, platonic valentines from girls and whatnot, but by the time lunch came around, there were too many for that to be the case because even _I_ had not spoken to every single yearmate in all the Houses.

Lu confirmed when he peeked in Harper’s bag, nodding.

“I see one from Pucey, a third-year. Another from... ugh, _Bole..._ wait, it might be a threat or a hex or something-”

“Please don’t check.” I mumbled, laying my face against the table.

“That’s _got_ to be bad for your posture, Guinevere.” Harper noted.

I groaned. “The table understands me.”

Dietrich sighed, nudging my head over so he could give me a plate of sandwiches. Another dwarf passed by, dropping some valentines off (two for me, one for Jay and Lu each, both of whom looked surprised and blushed, Jay more so than Lu). I nibbled at a sandwich, muttering plans for the assassination of Gilderoy Lockhart with a rather bemused Dietrich.

Harper sniggered suddenly, though. “Here it comes, guys!”

Something slammed into the table, and I looked up to see a rather irate Ron.

“ _Who’s sent you valentines?”_ he hissed, eyes wild, “You’re only bloody eleven! I’ll _KILL_ ‘em! _Tell me their names!_ No one tries to _seduce my baby sister_ without my permission — I’ll hex them into next Tuesday!”

I glowered at Harper, who was laughing with Lu, and received sympathetic frowns from Dietrich and Julius. Then I sighed, “Ron, it’s not a big deal... Not really, I don’t think.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Did you send anyone anything?”

I gave him a flat look. Then I plastered on a smile. “Of course, Ronnie! I sent Professor Lockhart seven already!”

Ron looked horrified, and even Jay snickered. I rolled my eyes.

“ _No_ , Ron, I didn’t send any; well, not _really._ Not using the dwarves at any rate- I have one for Luna and another for Hermione and Prefect Zabini... D’you think Alby will like his? It’s purely platonic, I assure you. As a joke, really.”

Ron relaxed, then nodded firmly. “Good. Good, good. Only girls and... _WHAT?_ You sent one to the-”

“Shut it, Ron!” I interrupted, smacking his arm. Then quieter, “Don’t _announce_ it; anyways, it’s an inside joke. I’ve sent Alby a valentine every bloody year since I met him, you know! It’s just for fun! Piss off!”

My brother groaned and buried his head in his hands. “That’s how it _starts_ , Lyssie. It’s just for fun, it’s just a joke, and then BAM! Suddenly I’m fending off boys with sticks, shielding you-”

My eye twitched. “ _What_ are you smoking, Ron?” He raised a brow, and I waved him off. “Never mind, Muggle joke. Whatever. I’m not even going to use the stupid delivery system — none of mine are secret, and I’ll hand them out to people’s faces, thank you very much. Did- Oh. Ginny sent one to Harry, didn’t she?”

Ron sighed and nodded, ignoring the scandalized looks as he finally sat down and proceeded to eat everything within his reach. Good old Ron, he never changed. “It was a singing valentine and everything, in front of everyone.”

I moaned into my hands. Ron went on, “He was dying on the inside, I could _see_ it. And then Harry dropped his book and Parkinson picked it up, Percy took points off when Harry disarmed the git to take it back-”

Book.

I snapped to attention, grabbing Ron’s wrist. “Book?” I asked, voice a little higher than normal.

He nodded, raising a brow. “Found it nearly flushed down a toilet. Empty, y’know, so Harry decided to keep it. I guess he liked it, ‘cos he near ripped it out of Parkinson’s grubby little hands… Malfoy got all hissy, then, though why he’d defend a _cow_ is beyond me…”

Ron went on talking, but my thoughts were a million miles away... or rather, the expanse of the Great Hall away, in the bag of Harry Potter. Whoever had the diary had tried to get rid of it, and it was picked up by the hands of my friend... just like canon.

Only, _who_ had tried to get rid of it?

It wasn’t Ginny, not this time. But someone... someone had done all these petrifications, someone had gotten scared and decided to chuck the diary before it got worse. And that someone, if Fate went on like this, was going to steal it back.

_Wards that put tracking charms on thieves,_ I remembered faintly; I’d made those wards up so I could catch Luna’s bullies and put an end to it, as much as possible, but now they could prove very, _very_ useful.

When lunch finished, my eyes were trained on the most famous of the Golden Trio. The one who had a certain diary in their pocket.

_Tom Marvolo Riddle,_ I’d written once, _Odd name, don’t you think?_

_A mixture of pureblood and not, unfortunately._

_Hm._

I could already imagine the deep, deep red of his black, faded, glassy colors. Curling and uncurling, winding around my indigo. Searching for weakness.

I could see flickers of black ink, words written on top of each other and blotted enough that I knew he was thinking too fast for me to read.  _You didn’t read any of that?_

_It’s like you’re writing too fast too keep up. Good Merlin Tom, are you alright? There’s ink all over the place!_

Yeah, he was definitely there. Probably hiding in Harry’s peacock colors. Maybe there was some sort of Horcrux recognition thingy, unconscious or something, which was how even with concentrated Mage Sight — oh god, the headache — I couldn’t distinguish his influence on such a Light wizard. Ah, whatever. I found him, that motherfucker. 

Fuck, I hated Valentine’s Day.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HA! Look who remembered to update! That's right. Me. I remembered. 
> 
> Also, this is perfect. I’m edit before posting, right, since I backlog for a looooong time, but this chapter used to be bloody 10,000 words, so I cut it down into two chapters. And now I have space for more chill shit, as was pointed out in a comment by Lucy (guest)! Yay!
> 
> And, as always, thanks to all who comment/kudos/bookmark/subscribe! A shoutout to SwiftyTheWriter deserves to be said here, I think, because you have commented every single chapter and I don't really know how I haven't disappointed you yet. XD Thanks to all once again, please enjoy!

 

**…**

 

“The incantation, _Avifors_ , is taken from Latin, which makes up the majority of the lower-level spells you have all been learning here at Hogwarts…” McGonagall lectured, which I was — rather unfortunately, because I did like the woman — tuning out.

Luna was humming under her breath, sitting next to me. I was partnered with Dietrich, actually, and she was with some ‘Claw named Cole, or something, who was very politely ignoring her oddities. Better than sneering at her or laughing behind his hands, I suppose, so the kid registered alright in my book.

Dietrich nudged me. “Pay attention, _fille stupide._ ”

“Shut up. Fake French.” I mumbled.

I swear, I actually _saw_ the vein in his temple bulge a little. “I. Am. French. Why is this so difficult for you to grasp? All of you!” hissed Dietrich.

Harper, on his other side, snickered into his textbook — quietly. Impressive, really, because Harper usually was so distracted by interesting things that he gave us away to the professors more often than not. I guess that schedule of ours was really working.

“Your name’s Dietrich. That’s German.” I replied.

“ _Bastion._ Dietrich _Bastion._ It’s French! _Par tous les dieux!”_

“Weasley! Bastion! Pay attention, if you please!” came McGonagall’s sharp command.

If we weren’t self-respecting Slytherins, we’d have sat up straighter or something. McGonagall was one intimidating witch, after all. As it was, we nodded respectful and murmured apologies for the disruption. The ‘Claws knew better than to laugh at me, knowing what I’d done to some of their upperclassman for insults against Luna.

Luna giggled airily beside me. “You like to play with your lieutenants, don’t you, Guinevere?” she whispered.

“If by ‘play’ you mean ‘annoy’, yes.”

Dietrich muttered in French on the other side. Probably unflattering things. It brought a smile to my face, because I had, truly, missed him being all relaxed like this. It got me to relax, too. If the stiff, snarling _Dietrich Bastion_ wasn’t wound up, there was no reason for anyone else to be, either, really. The kid was more uptight than canon!Percy, honestly, if a bit less invested in institutions and their rules.

“Break into pairs and practice on the cushions in front of you,” instructed McGonagall, knocking me out of my thoughts.

The classroom was filled with incantations and the odd sound of fluttering wings or squawking birds. McGonagall — and most professors, really — normally didn’t bother me and mine during the practical part of class, since we were all quite competent, having learned all this ahead of time. (Unless Harper and I were partnered; the kid was adorable, I loved him really, but he had a tendency to make things explode, and I had a tendency to try to replicate it out of pure curiosity.)

The pillows were already stuffed with feathers, so it’d be easier for us to Transfigure them.

I was starting to cast _Avifors_ on Dietrich’s school supplies. He’d already gotten my tie — imperfect Transfiguration, since the birds were all silvery and green, fluttering above us — in revenge, and was attempting to get my parchment and spare quills.

We got bored in class, sometimes. Which was normal.

This was normal.

“-no, no, Mr. Harper, you’re not meant to jab at the pillow that violently!” 

“ _Avifors!”_

“Dammit, Harper, it’s all over the place!” 

“Mr. Mason, language!”

Dietrich got roped into trying to help Harper at some point or another. (“Mr. Bastion! Since you and Weasley are so obviously ahead of your classmates, do assist your House mate.” “Of course, Professor.”) At that point, I glanced over to see Luna Transfiguring easily — she was, at heart, a lover of Care of Magical Creatures, of course, but Luna was the only one in my year that matched my natural aptitude for Transfiguration and Charms — and looking rather more lost than usual.

So I pointed my wand at the birds she had circling around. “ _Camalio Flaxis! Macalosia Osturus! Camalio Luteus!”_ I started casting randomly, having her grey birds pop into neon yellows and oranges with garish, purple spots.

Luna laughed lightly as I shot a bit of color and interest into her own magic. She turned wide, silvery eyes towards me. “You smell of campfire.” said Luna suddenly.

Ah. Well, that made sense.

I burned most of the valentines I’d gotten yesterday. Bunches of them were trick ones, of course. Some were those obligatory ones, weren’t even personalized, usually from the girls in Hufflepuff just because those badgers used Lockhart’s horrible system to make sure everyone was equally embarrassed. (Fairness, see?) Some were creepy as hell and I found it irritating that someone who’d write shitty poetry like this wouldn’t come up to tell me they thought I was pretty themselves, if they really did ‘feel their heart race like a Nimbus in their chest’ every time I passed by. (Pfffft.)

Harper got a bit creative with the fire spells, though. Jay still had some blisters.

“Got a bit carried away yesterday.” I replied to Luna carelessly.

Luna nodded dreamily. “You get carried away a lot.”

I smiled sheepishly, still flicking Color Changing Charms at her birds and mine, feeling my magic sing as I did. (It wasn’t used much for simple pleasures like this.) “I do, don’t I?”

“That’s alright. That’s what your lieutenants are for. They’ve got to ground you when you’re too distracted to notice you’re floating away. There are lofty things in your head, you know. Might be the nargles’ doing.”

“You’ve told me lots that I’m more susceptible to nargles than most.” I said, nodding.

“It’s rather tragic.” Luna sighed. “Have you found your lonely book?”

_Do you ever get lonely? What on earth do you do when I’m not writing?_

_Sift through memories, mostly. I have some limited awareness of the outside world, however, and it’s mostly thanks to you. The more we speak, the more awake I am._

_Stop._

_Feeding on the magic of the — indigo and blue and silver, pulsing with health, a quasi-sentient cloud of color. Curling up to it was black, black, blackened red and — siphoning, eating, growing stronger and redder — pale skin, the veins blue and stark against the translucent — Drops of water, slowly falling, green glow and worn stone curving to make a face — black ink, yellow pages, white fangs, red red red red-_

_Stop._

_So you DO sleep?_

_I’d been sleeping for a long time before you, Guinevere._

_You never answered my question._

_Which was?_

_Do you ever get lonely?_

_Blurring words — ink all over the page, splattered on, too quick — she frowned at it. Sometimes it happened, when she was distracted or — black book and smooth, lovely pages that were leathery and soft with age. It fit right into her hidden pockets._

_Stop._

“I have, actually.” I said quietly.

Luna looked at me sadly. “Really?”

I smiled a little. “I know where he is, but not quite how to get to him. It’s… an odd situation.”

She frowned, looking a bit concerned. “Don’t let its nargles get to you, Guinevere. You attract nargles like honey and bees.”

“I don’t mean to.” I said, rather guiltily.

(This was Luna’s way of saying she was worried about me getting into trouble, you see.)

She shook her head. “I know you don’t, Guinevere. But even flowers shed away their brightness and hibernate for the winter, you see. Oughtn’t you to do that?”

“Hibernate?”

“Just like a Seven-horned Humbibbily.” Luna said matter-of-factly.

I laughed a little. “I’ll try to keep my head down, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

Luna patted the top of my head. “You try very hard.” she praised.

Well. I think it was praise. One never knew with Luna, after all. Even after all these years, the girl still caught me off-guard sometimes. Pleasantly, as I really did enjoy trying to piece together her thoughts through her words, but still.

 

**…**

 

Okay.

What the _fuck_ did I do wrong this time?

I looked between Harper and Jay in blatant confusion, watching Dietrich coldly walk off with Lu following after him uncertainly, glancing back at me a few times before the two exited the Slytherin common room. I blinked.

It was the day after Valentine’s Day, right after classes; Dietrich had slowly been warming up after the big fight — holy shit, his grudge-holding capabilities neared Ginny levels — and I thought we’d be back to normal by Easter Hols at least, with how we didn’t have time to speak properly, not reall. Then fucking- _Something_ happened, ‘cos the little shit was back to ignoring me and keeping at least a three foot distance and _holy Merlin it was pissing me off_.

“He has more mood swings than a girl!” I hissed, folding my arms childishly.

Harper gave me a ‘You’re an idiot’ look. I narrowed my eyes at him.

Jay sighed, “You said it started after Valentine’s?”

“Yeah.”

Harper gave me a ‘You’re a REALLY BIG idiot’ look. I snarled.

Jay, again, sighed, “For someone who’s really smart, sometimes you don’t think.”

I threw my hands up in the air. “For Merlin’s sake, Harper just explain it to me in non-cryptic words already! Jay seems to have a problem with telling things to me straight today!”

Harper huffed, rolling his doe-eyes at me. He didn’t say anything, though. 

Jay continued, “Remember what we said, Guinevere? Last time you two were fighting? Remember what we told you _not_ to tell Dietrich that you knew?”

I scrunched my eyebrows together.

That was the end of Harper’s patience.

“You _idiot,_ Guinevere! Dietrich _FANCIES_ you! It was just _Valentine’s!_ You probably got a valentine from him or something, and because you didn’t read any of them, he’s pissed off at you!”

I blinked. Then I stared accusingly at Jay.  “You said it was just a crush! You said he’d get over it!” I hissed.

Jay face-palmed. Actually did. Which was how I knew this was bad, Jay was normally too elegant for that shite. “No, Guinevere, I _said_ that _Dietrich_ thought he’d get over it.”

“You’re a terrible Slytherin, _actually forgetting_ when we told you to forget it.” Harper piped in, looking disappointed in me.

I looked at Jay incredulously. “You tell me to forget, you expect me to remember, make up your mind, man!”

Harper threw his head back and groaned to the ceiling.

I crossed my arms and looked away, feeling like an idiot and a child. Which I was technically both, but it still was embarrassing. And irritating. Why the hell- I didn’t remember that Dietrich fancied me with everything else going on, and it’s not like he was making it known, acting so cautious around me... _and we’d never had our fucking talk._ Fuck! I forgot about that, too!

“ _Why_ would he bloody fancy me if I’m like this?” I muttered to myself.

Harper turned his wide eyes to me, looking shocked. “You get a tonne of valentines, and you ask something like that? Are you stupid, Guinevere?”

I glared. “Shut up, Harper.”

Jay shook his head. “I have to agree with Harper on this one, Guinevere.”

“Wha- traitor!”

Harper grinned. “Does this mean I’m the king, now? I beat Guinevere!”

Jay nodded, humoring him. “Of course. May I be your Second?”

“Of course, _Jay!_ Does this mean you fancy me like Dietrich fancies Guinevere? Good thing I’m already an idiot, I won’t need to work to ignore you and make you pine after me quietly-”

“Shut up, Harper!” I interrupted, feeling bad all of a sudden.

Harper sniggered, but Jay frowned and put a hand on my arm. “Sorry, Guinevere. It’s surprising that you’d ask that, though; all of _us_ saw it coming the moment we allied at the beginning of the school year.”

I buried my head in my hands. “Really? I’m the _only_ one who didn’t know?”

“Yup!”

“Shut up, Harper.”

Jay patted my back comfortingly. “I can’t believe this is a surprise to you. What’s not to like about you, Guinevere? Why _wouldn’t_ Dietrich fancy you?”

“Maybe the fact that we’re both eleven?” I muttered.

“As if _that_ matters, Guinevere. I had a crush on Astoria Greengrass — she’s coming to Hogwarts next year — for a few years.” Jay reasoned, “It only faded when her big sister punched me in the nose when I was nine...”

Harper laughed. “You got beat up by a girl, Jay? Was it Daphne, in Malfoy’s year? D’you wanna prank her?”

Jay rolled his eyes. “Not now, Harper. Guinevere? What’s wrong?”

“I’m cocky, I’m a bloodtraitor, I’m constantly dividing my attention among all the bloody things I do, I’m cruel when I feel threatened, I’m an idiot when it matters, and I’m a liar. Why would someone fancy that?” came my feeble mumble. I was trying to deny this bullshit, because I was fucking _eleven and drama like this didn’t happen when you were eleven._

Fuck.

This could _not_ be happening.

“You’re confident when you need to be, Guinevere.” Jay said gently and patiently, “Like when you’re sniping at Malfoy. But the fact that you were embarrassed at the valentines and you seem to be putting yourself down now... well, that’s not very arrogant of you.”

“Who cares if you’re a bloodtraitor? Didn’t I say it didn’t matter?” Harper asked.

“You _are_ busy, but that’s because you try to give time to everyone. Potter and his gang, your brothers, Lovegood, Zabini, us... it’s a lot, and we understand that.” Jay went on, smiling.

“You’re _scary_ to Malfoy and his gang and anyone who crosses you, but that’s alright. You’re kinda like a mother that way, y’know? Do you mother a lot, Guinevere? You terrorized all of Lovegood’s bullies, which was fun.” Harper chimed in cheerfully.

“And yes, you’re a bit scatterbrained sometimes...” laughed Jay, but it was a warm kind of laugh. “But it’s proof that you’re a normal kid, like us. Sometimes you’re so mature, Guinevere, it frightens us... but then you do something idiotic, like forget your gloves in Herbology, and we’re reminded that you’re only human.”

I was honestly going to cry. These little buggers... Dammit! I shouldn’t be asking for emotional reassurance from eleven-year-old boys! But that’s what this was, really; them reassuring me that I wasn’t a fucking monster that was changing the plot line too much, that I was necessary to them. That my faults didn’t outweigh the good (?) I’d done, at least, in their eyes.

“Lastly! Well, you’ve never lied about who you are with us.” Harper piped in, patting my head gently, “I think you’ve only ever lied about what you do; and it usually had something to do with that book of yours. The one Parkinson stole.”

I froze.

“What?”

It was true, I guess, that I lied when I had the diary — I couldn’t rightly tell people that I was talking to a little version of the Dark Lord!

“Sometimes when you said you’re studying, you were just writing in it.” explained Jay quietly, “You don’t lie when you sneak off from us — you always explain what you’re doing, and it’s usually to help your brothers or something.”

Harper nodded in agreement. “That book, though... well, it’s a diary so we can’t really tell you to hand it over, right? You _said_ it’s got notes and stuff, but you can be truthful with us, Guinevere: it’s really just a diary. Don’t be _embarrassed_ about that — you’re a girl, you do girl things sometimes.”

Oh shit. Okay, this was _really_ starting to make sense to me now. No, I usually didn’t lie to them — they were my _friends_ , even before I realized it, I didn’t want to lie to them! Anything that I lied about to the rest of Slytherin — sneaking off to see my brothers, the Hospital Wing incident, the Halloween Feast incident, after the Dueling Club thing — I always explained to them. I was actually _strangely_ truthful, for being a Slytherin... at least, when it came to them.

I never said a thing about Mage Sight or Clairvoyance or Reincarnation — didn’t even _hint_ at it. I never had to lie about that, because the subject never even came _close_ to that, there was nothing to cover up. But the diary?

Oh, Tom had always been with me. I had been constantly having him tutor me, trying to get him to believe I was falling for his nice-boy trap. I often told the boys that it was just my private notebook, I told them that it was filled with notes and wards and stuff about them; which was technically true because that’s what I talked about with Tom. They _picked up_ that technicality and shrugged off my half-truths, believing that it was a diary and I was just embarrassed — so, to them, _yes_ it was filled with those things, but I lied about it because it was also intensely private and I didn’t want them to think I was girly for having a diary.

_Oh Merlin._

Dietrich’s anger was a bit justifiable now. My ‘diary’ was a dangerous, Dark artifact; now that he knew, suddenly my dishonesty wasn’t something trivial and easy to dismiss... Suddenly, I was lying to protect a Dark object, which might even _explain_ why I was being uncharacteristically dishonest...

He actually really thought I might be possessed.

Fuck. _Really?_

“GUINEVERE! HARPER! JAY!”

I jumped out of my seat, on my feet and with my wand out; Lu ran up to us, panting for breath — there was a cut on his forehead and a bruise on his jaw. My eyes narrowed with protective anger; I cheated a bit and canceled my _Dī-konden An-drixtā and_ looked at his magic (Lu was a warm burnt coral with a bit of deep red, some soft silver on his edges). Lu's magic showed that he was on edge, nervous, _maybe scared?_ That wasn’t fucking normal.

“What. Happened?” I bit out, jumping to the worst possible situation. “Where’s Dietrich?”

“The abandoned classroom — Guinevere, please-”

I pushed my boys out of the way and ran through my list of combative spells, my list of Healing for Dietrich, and another list of cusses for letting myself grow complacent. Just because I’d managed to get on with most everyone didn’t mean my enemies had de-clawed themselves; the fuckers were probably waiting for me to forget about them before they jumped us.

Goddammit.

My wand was spitting out sparks by the time I reached the classroom and I threw the door open, shouting out, “Dietrich! Are you alright?”

... 

What?

Dietrich sat on a desk, looking a bit surprised at my sudden ferocious entrance.

We blinked at each other for a moment.

(A moment too long.)

“SORRY GUINEVERE DIETRICH IT HAD TO BE DONE BYE!”

In my shock, Harper ripped my wand out of my hand and the door was slammed closed and obviously locked before I could wandlessly summon it back. Both Dietrich and I gaped silently at the door, before my temper snapped and I stomped to the door and pounded on it, snarling.

“ _HARPER!_ YOU LITTLE _GIT!_ OPEN THE DOOR!”

“No! Not happening!” came a muffled laugh.

“ _VAISEY! ROOKWOOD!_ OPEN THE _BLOODY_ DOOR!”

“Sorry, Guinevere! It had to be done!”

I stepped back from the door and resisted the urge to kick it. Sighing, I turned to look at Dietrich. His eyes were narrowed in a rare moment of expression, and we exchanged places as he threatened through the door:

“I will make your lives very painful for the next few days. Let us out.”

Jay’s cool, soft voice answered (Harper was laughing in the background), “You’ve both made our lives painful for the last few _weeks_. You keep saying you’ll talk, but you never do; now’s your chance, both of you.”

I groaned and we both realized that we weren’t going to be let out for _at least_ an hour. Dietrich sighed and sat down on another desk across from me. I pulled up my legs to sit cross-legged, and we eyed each other awkwardly.

_You’re an adult! You shouldn’t be so awkward with a little kid!_ I told myself.

_But you’ve got the instincts of a child, remember?_ another voice said quietly.

Ugh. Talking to myself again.

“Hi, Dietrich.” I finally said, giving him a crooked grin.

He raised a brow, but sighed and shook his head. “Hello, Guinevere.”

Okay. Good start.

“So... our friends are idiots.” I said, glancing at the door.

“Very. Though... they are right, you know. This is our chance.”

I nodded. “We never quite got around to our talk, did we?”

Dietrich snorted; it was a bit more bitter than I’d heard before. “No, we never did. I suppose it’s both our faults. We have been avoiding it. Now, sitting in a room those idiots trapped us in, I wonder why.”

A thought occurred to me. I groaned into my hands. “Dietrich, we were tricked _by Harper.”_

He blinked, then slumped. “He will not forget this.”

 

**…**

 

Alright. This was fine. He was fine, I was fine. Okay, just a few seconds of courage... I could do it…

“What’d I do this time, Dietrich?” I blurted out.

He looked at me in surprise.

I went on, feeling silly for all this. “I thought it was getting better — we hadn’t talked yet, no, but it was like before. We were best mates again and everything. What was it about Valentine’s day? I _know_ that’s when this started up again.”

Dietrich shuffled, and I knew that as his sign of embarrassment. “Guinevere, the last time we had a... similar talk, you told me that you were going to do the... not Slytherin thing, and ask me frankly.”

I nodded, remembering that day in the Hospital Wing clearly.

“Can I be frank, then? Un-Slytherin?”

I rolled my eyes. “Didn’t I say, and I quote, ‘Pants to Slytherin’ during that conversation? As if I care right now, Dietrich — I’m tired of this dramatic bollocks, so pants to subtlety, too. I feel like this is too much drama for one year.”

He nodded. “Guinevere, this was never about my... er, feelings.”

Oh shit, son.

“Harper.” I growled.

Dietrich’s face pinked slightly. “Yes. Harper. Let it slip that you knew before breakfast one day. I was particularly... difficult with you that day. I think it’s what encouraged Bole to make his bid the next day.”

My eyes widened. “What the- _I remember that day!_ You prat!”

Dietrich rolled his eyes. “This is not about that, Guinevere.”

I swallowed my indignation and nodded, listening intently. 

“I am over that, Guinevere — no need to worry. Rookwood and Harper made such a big deal of it, those squabbling little _children_.” he muttered. Then he cleared his throat, looking me in the eye quite seriously. “This is, and always has been, about the diary.”

_Fuck. I knew it. I honestly would’ve taken the crush over this talk. Shit._

“You knew I was lying about it.” I said quietly, “All this time.”

He nodded. “I heard you… When you were speaking to Lovegood in Transfiguration. About… Welll…” Dietrich cleared his throat. “At first, we all thought it was nothing... You are the only girl of the group, we thought you lied out of embarrassment. We could let such lies pass, because it did not concern us; and you were always honest to us in everything else — I did not think you could lie to us to save your life, it is why I... fancied you for a bit...”

He cleared his throat again, looking very awkward.

“When Parkinson stole it, I didn’t think anything of it when you fought to get it back. It is a diary, personal — that is important to girls more so than boys, I’ve been told. It is when you went behind the others’ backs to search their rooms that I became worried. It was unbelievable, to me, that you would value your diary over the trust of your friends — unbelievable, because that is not you. That is not who you are.”

_Lastly! Well, you’ve never lied about who you are with us,_ Harper echoed in my mind.

Dietrich still spoke, the most he’d ever said in one go; I think he spoke more in these long minutes than the entire past year put together.

“I can go on about your virtues as a leader, but that’s not what this is about, either. The point is, it was worrying when I saw that. And then you told me that your diary was not just a silly book, but a _Dark artifact?_ How else did you expect me to react, Guinevere? When I found out that all the time you’d lied and said you were _studying_ , you were actually risking your life — and for what?”

He paused, and I realized he was waiting for an answer.

I sighed. “I can’t tell you, Dietrich — I _can’t.”_

He breathed deeply, grey eyes like melting iron — fiercely angry. “It’s dangerous enough to kill someone? It’s dangerous enough to kill someone like Harper in _two seconds?_ That’s what you told me, Guinevere. That’s all I knew about that book... that _thing.”_ He spat the last word like it was a curse word, disgusting.

“You’re not angry.” I said, sick with the realization. “You’re worried.”

That was so much worse than anger. It dropped a stone right into my stomach.

Dietrich glared at me.

“You said it yourself, Guinevere; you are my best friend. While you had been, I thought, forgetting about that cursed little thing, busying yourself with school and Slytherin politics, I had been looking for what it was. Researching, all the time; going off the little you told me and what I observed. And you know what I found, Guinevere?”

I closed my eyes. I think I rather did. No wonder I kept Seeing Dietrich in the library; I thought it was just stupid stuff, he was just studying, but _this_ is what he’d been doing... he’d been finding-

“Possession. _Soul stealing._ That, Guinevere, is what I found while I snuck into the Restricted Section. And it fit! I thought you’d been using invisible ink, you know? I thought you’d cast _Aparecium_ once, and words appeared on the page, but _no!_ It was writing back, wasn’t it? It was _talking_ to you!” He was shouting, the first time he had during the duration of our acquaintance. “And you wrote back! _Everyday!_ You spoke to the thing _every day_ since you’d had it!”

“Dietrich, it’s not-”

“ ** _Why_** , Guinevere, would you put yourself in danger like that?” he interrupted again, uncoiled cool-toned magic touching at my own tense indigo-silver unknowingly. “Why would you risk yourself- What does it offer you, that you’d do this?”

I flinched at the pure _worry_ in his voice.

How come Dietrich could scold me like my mother? Dammit. It wasn’t fair!

“Okay — you’re right. But not really. It’s not just a soul-stealer! It’s got someone inside.” I admitted, voice near-whisper, “A memory of someone — a genius. I’ve looked him up — he used to be a Slytherin prefect and Head Boy. He set records in classes, became the king of Slytherin even though he was a Half-blood. I wanted to learn from him.”

Dietrich looked _betrayed._

I waved my hands, “No, no, no! I _refused_ to let him help me in conquering Slytherin, in befriending you guys. I’ll swear on my magic, we’re friends _of my own volition!_ No, Dietrich, he tutored me in class. Taught me how to ward and some of the easier curses and hexes-”

“And this is worth it?” he asked, his voice almost _devastated,_ “You could have _died_ before we became friends? You could have _died_ , and we first-years would’ve been _pawns_ for the Malfoy boy; Harper would be failing all his classes; Rookwood would never speak; and I would have gone back to Germany the first month, because of _this book?”_

Putting it that way, I felt like shit.

But... if Guinevere Lysandra Weasley never existed, that’s _exactly_ what would have happened.

I played with my hands, feeling very scolded now.

And very guilty.

“We would not have even known why you would’ve died.” he whispered on, looking both parts enraged and grieving, “Why alone, Guinevere? Why did you not share the burden? Warn us? So we could have helped ground you, keep your soul away from it? And how could you _continue_ your obsession with it??”

“It’s not that I’m obsessed with the diary, Dietrich!” I protested, feeling angry at the imagery of _Tom_ managing to trick me, to make me- I dunno, _bow_ to him. “I told you- It’s _dangerous!_ Now you know how, and now you can understand why I don’t want anyone else to be at risk of it!”

“You guard it with _wards-_ ”

“ _Because_ it’s dangerous! Dammit, Dietrich, the moment I picked it up, it became my responsibility — and anyone it kills, whoever it’s killing right now, _that’s on my head!_ It’s _not_ obsession, it’s _not_ jealousy!”

Dietrich pinched his nose, looking very frustrated. He glanced up at me, sneered a little, then down again, sighing. A deep breath for both of us, and then he looked at me with that familiar bored expression, his voice calm:

“Why do you do this to yourself, alone? Tell me the truth, Guinevere. Help me understand, so I can help. Just... why do you put it above us? What power does it hold over you, what do you fear, that you can’t at least tell me? Your best friend?”

_FUCK. That’s a low blow, Dietrich, you sneaky little bastard._

My heart actually pinched in pain, and I felt like the worst person in the world right about now. I’d dangled information in front of Dietrich and expected him not to ask questions, not to look into things... I’d expected blind obedience, really, and when all I got were questions, I got pissed off. I painted myself the victim all this time, when I was really being the irritating problem.

_But Dietrich’s eleven, Lys! You can’t involve him in this!_ something shouted furiously at me in my head.

_Harry bloody Potter raced a Dark Lord to the Philosopher’s Stone when he was eleven. Dietrich can damn well do whatever the fuck he wants._ I muttered back.

_You’re the adult here! You can’t endanger children!_ it protested.

_But I’m not, am I? I’m an eleven-year-old witch with memories of nineteen years of a Muggle life in the future. I don’t know what the_ fuck _I’m doing with this magic shit, and I need my friend’s help, and he needs my trust. Fuck off!_

Sighing, I nodded.

“Okay. You win. You’re not going to drop this, are you?”

“Not a chance in hell.”

“I never thought I’d be _annoyed_ at your loyalty. I’ll tell you what I can.”

_I won’t tell him about the Clairvoyance, that’s not even really a factor. Reincarnation memories are something I’m taking to the grave, obviously. But I’ll tell him everything I’ve got about Tom, about my suspicions that he’s possessing someone to open the Chamber of Secrets, that every time I’ve tried to interfere with his plans, something gets in the way._

And I did.

I told Dietrich about finding the diary in Ginny’s things during the summer, and writing in it. Discovering another soul inside, the memory of a sixteen-year-old genius named Tom. Researching what he was, coming to a similar conclusion as Dietrich (that was a bit of a fib, but if you counted foreknowledge and visions, it worked), that Tom was some sort of soul-stealer, or wished to possess me. Deciding that I’d rather pick his mind, make his knowledge and skill my own, than turn him in just yet... after all, I’m a Slytherin, and I wanted power — and was confident I could out-Slytherin Tom, take his knowledge and get away with my soul intact.

I spoke of some of the conversations we had, Tom and I, and of how I was very careful not to give much away. How I dealt with him like an ally — an ally that would turn on me in a heartbeat if I slipped once. I described some of the knowledge Tom had, trying to explain his depth of knowledge and why I deemed it more valuable than my safety for the moment.

(“Are you sure?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“That you were simply trying to use it. You wrote the soul-stealer… every day, Guinevere. Every day. It is not… You call it ‘he’, you call it by name, not by the magical abomination it is. That is…”

I hesitated, feeling vaguely guilty and ashamed. “Maybe…” I conceded, “Maybe I thought he was my friend. I just… forgot, sometimes. It’s…”

Dietrich only nodded, a soft sort of understanding in his eyes. “No need for excuses, Guinevere. You were not… You were better off than I, in the beginning of the year. But I know what loneliness is. This ‘Tom’ is very dangerous.”

I shuddered, imaging what would’ve happened if _Dietrich_ had the diary at the beginning of the year. Shit, it would’ve been horrible.)

Then I talked about how I’d had to keep Tom from them — the four boys — because at first, I didn’t trust them. We were allies, not friends. But by the time we’d become friends, I didn’t want to burden them with Tom’s existence; I was arrogant, I thought I was the only one who’d understand how dangerous Tom was. I admitted that. I even touched a little on how maybe Dietrich might be right, that I hadn’t completely succeeded, because I kinda sorta thought Tom might’ve been my friend at one point.

Dietrich listened patiently, commented only a few times for clarification, nodded along with me. I felt like a burden was coming off my shoulders, piece by piece, as I spoke. Eventually, I finished, and we were left in peaceful silence.

“We’ll get it back.” he said finally.

I looked at him. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “We’ll get it back. But then we’re going to destroy it. Or bury it deep somewhere, where it will never see the light of day again.” He gave me a firm look. “It has been useful, Guinevere, I admit that — but it is too dangerous. I will not risk anymore souls to it. Not yours, not mine.”

I sighed, but understood and nodded. “I understand.”

Tom’s fate was sealed, then. Either he’d be dead by Dietrich’s hands, buried until the seventh book and then killed by Harry, or just plain killed by Harry at the end of the current school year. Whatever the pathway, the end of it was the diary being stabbed or burned or something.

(I didn’t want to acknowledge the part of me that felt sad at the prospect. It meant admitting that Tom had been succeeding, and if Parkinson hadn’t stolen it when she did, I might be talking around petrifying people right now.)

“Good. Now... I suppose we should be trying to get out now.” he said.

“Yeah. How long’s it been?”

“We missed dinner... They may have forgotten us.”

“Revenge tomorrow?”

Dietrich huffed an amused snort, and I sighed, looking at the ceiling. So. Dietrich knew that Tom was probably possessing someone to open the Chamber. He knew I was at the root of these petrifications, and he didn’t seem to give two shits about it. Seemed only relieved that _it wasn’t me_ being possessed.

I grinned at him, first time in a while. “Are we friends again?”

He scoffed. “I was never _not_ your friend.”

“Could’ve fooled me, you prat. Oh, and… Call me Lys, yeah?”

Dietrich smiled, eyes crinkling and mouth curving and dimples showing. He looked so much younger like that. 

“Lys.” was all he said.

(First time I’d S/seen that before.)

Had a nice ring to it, with the light French accent and all. Lys. That, plus his small smile, which probably mirrored my own; we both knew that this was a clean slate now, that  _this_ was the conclusion to our rigidness. And maybe the others would be- I dunno,  _disappointed_ that it wasn't any sort of drama shit that got us to this point (Harper and Jay were  _hopeless_   _romantics,_ though Harper was generally just sort of hopeless), but this was enough for me. It almost felt like... I had another brother. Or something.

_Me and mine now, Dietrich. I suppose it’s about time._


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quick 'lil update for y'all before I go to lab. Basically the part two of the last chapter. Enjoy!
> 
> Oh, and as always, thank you to commentors/kudos-ers/subscribers/bookmarkers! I do enjoy the questions, and always squeal when I see comments in my inbox. Much love to all of you. XD

 

**…**

 

Huh. I’d forgotten how _nice_ it was to have a go-to partner-in-crime. When I was younger, it had been Ginny. Then she got all weird about pranking after the George-grudge incident... so I’d go to Ron, or the twins. Usually Ron, to get _revenge_ on the twins. Percy wasn’t a partner-in-crime type, though I adored him. And with Ginny off, still mad at me, Ron with Harry and Hermione, and the twins used to just each other and/or Lee Jordan, I’d lost that.

Now I had Dietrich.

Fake French fucker. He has a _German_ name, for Merlin’s sake! Why does he have a French accent?

Anyways.

It was nice, having someone who knew mostly everything, because I had someone to panic to when Ron told me that the diary had been stolen out of Harry’s dorm.

“WE were going to do that!” I hissed to Dietrich in Potions, “Now we have no bloody clue where it is again — it’s probably the possessed person again, they probably saw Harry with it some time…” _Fucking Clairvoyance isn’t giving me a hint! Fuck!_

Dietrich hissed back, “Concentrate on the potion, we’ll worry later!”

I clenched by jaw, but obeyed. If my potion-mixing was a little stiff, who could blame me?

“I don’t want to kill anyone.” I muttered, barely a whisper.

Dietrich, of course, heard me. He nearly paused in the preparation of the rat tails, but continued after a surprised little jolt, slicing one of the tails a bit too widely for Snape’s meticulous tastes. “You will not be at fault.”

“I should’ve fetched Tom as soon as I could.”

He gave me a sharp look. “Have you forgotten? We agreed that the _horrible putain de livre_ had almost ensnared you. You would be the dead one, in this case.”

“Better than murdering some-”

“ _Absolument pas.”_ hissed Dietrich.

“But-”

“ _Pour l'amour de Dieu,_ woman, do not martyr yourself.” He glared at me. “You are Slytherin, _non?_ I will drag you back from the dead if you die for some fool like Stimpson or Bennett, and I will kill you.”

I felt myself smile a little. “Is this your way of saying I’m more important than Stimpson and Bennett?”

He snorted. “Of course you are.” He shuffled me over, sliding the rat tails into the potion and raising an unimpressed brow when it let out a puff of purple-grey smoke and started turning colors. “We will do what we must to get the book, Lys, but do not wish you were in the place of its victim. _Tu es une fille tellement ridicule. Tu as si peu d'estime de soi. C’est complètement absurde, puisqu’au final tu es vraiment une personne incroyable.”_

“Why do you keep doing that?” I whined.

Dietrich raised a brow at me.

“I never understand what you’re saying. You’re insulting me, aren’t you?”

Dietrich sighed heavily, letting me step back in and start timing the potion, stirring it clockwise then counter-clockwise. I had the impression that if he weren’t so proper, he’d be rolling his eyes and groaning by now.

“We will finish the potion. Then we will plot.”

“I’m rather good at multitasking.”

“So you think. Lovegood is right — you are often carried away, Lys.”

I grinned at him. “But you still value me more than Stimpson or Bennett.”

Dietrich swatted at me irritably, making me turn back to the potion, which was turning a sort of magenta color, softly glowing.

“Do not worry so much for the book. We will take care of it.”

_Together._ It wasn’t said, but it was heavily implied. Because Dietrich was my partner-in-crime again. It was a lovely feeling, having back up when you were flailing in a panic and likely compromised by a fucking diary, too. 

 

**…**

 

The match today was Hufflepuff vs. Gryffindor, which was all anyone would talk about over breakfast besides Dietrich and I, who were whispering conspiratorially over buttered toast and marmalade.

“Dietrich, who would have access to Harry’s dorm besides another Gryffindor?” I asked at, shoveling a thick slice of bread into my mouth as quickly and politely as possible, “Does this mean he’s possessing a Gryff?”

He glanced at the Gryffindor table, his eyes hesitating over the Golden Trio for a moment or two. “It is likely. But there are many inter-House alliances; a ‘Claw or a ‘Puff is possible.”

I sighed a little, shaking my head. “Luna says she doesn’t think any of her yearmates have the diary. She’s on the lookout, though.”

“Hm. So Lovegood knew before I did.”

“...Are you sulking? You’re _sulking,_ Dietrich!”

“I am not.”

Laughing at the hunched shoulders of my friend, I patted his arm. “No, Luna doesn’t need to be told things to know all she does. Come now, you’ve spoken to her in Herbology, Dietrich — Luna just _knows_ things.”

“This is true.” Dietrich admitted. Though, he looked much less pouty after that.

The firsties grouped together after lunch while I went searching for the Golden Trio. (They were so happy that their leader and lieutenant made up, the sappy fucks.) 

I think it actually quite helped Harry that there was just one more person that believed him to _not_ be a crazy Dark Lord in training. So, I made it my mission to say hello every now and then, try to get him to laugh at some joke at the usual expense of Malfoy. Sometimes my firsties. Often Malfoy. I found the Trio quickly, though apparently Hermione had just run off. I suppose she didn’t want to go to the match... Harry had a habit of getting injured at his matches.

Odd. Didn’t deter him from the game at all. Crazy boys and their obsession with brooms.

“-why’s she got to go to the library?” Harry asked.

Ron shrugged. “Because that’s what Hermione does. When in doubt, go to the library.”

“Harry!” I called.

Both boys turned, and I walked up to them with a smile.

“Ready for your match?” I asked the Seeker.

“As I’ll ever be.” he replied, his voice friendly. Friendly... but strained. His eyes darted around. 

I arched a brow at him. “Nervous, Potter?”

Ron rolled his eyes, “What’s Harry got to be nervous for? He’s the best Seeker in the school.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know why you _wouldn’t_ be nervous — flying around with just a stick underneath you to keep you from falling, the threat of falling to your death hanging over you. I told you a broom almost killed me, right?”

Harry laughed a little. (He’d heard the story.) “I like flying, though.”

“As if Harry would fall off his broom.” Ron snorted. “Just ‘cos you’re terrified of flying doesn’t mean it’s dangerous.”

“Hm. Yes, very sound logic, Ron.”

He wanted to stick his tongue out at me, I could tell. But he refrained, then seemed to realize something as he turned to Harry quickly. “You’d better get moving. It’s nearly eleven — the match...”

As they left, I shuffled over to the side to let the crowd of Hogwarts students pass by me without any trampling of my appendages, and I took out a notebook and opened to a random page, focusing the indigo-silver around me — my own magic, though it was faint, now, I was learning to ignore the colors because they really weren’t all that useful when I was faced with a horde of magic cores stomping around me — and letting my mind clear, for one thing.

The Basilisk.

I wanted to See it, hopefully find out what it was doing, because for some odd reason I felt like I was forgetting something _and it slithered through the pipes, poisonous green and black, scales sleek like glass — whispered to itself, though the language didn’t make any sense — damp path. It looked almost iguana-like in its face, though it was undoubtedly a snake..._

_It’s tongue tasted two scents — female and young and somewhere near — closer, closer, closer, it could see a flash of something — relfection? — and the scents changed, dulling... It spat angrily, seeing its prey of two female-young having been petrified by the glass in their hands, the reflected stares of its eyes-_

_Stop._

I gasped.

Hermione and Penelope Clearwater.

FUCK! I knew I’d forgotten something, but _really?_ How the shit did I forget that Hermione got petrified? As I ran through the hallways, hoping to reach the library, I cursed to myself and wondered why I hadn’t read the second book more often. The basilisk had likely slunk off to wallow in another failure, and I cranked up my Mage Sight to look for inhuman colors if it hadn’t — Mage Sight didn’t work very well in visions, but it gave off an ancient, _poisonous_ kind of aura (wow, I wonder why?) so I was vigilant as I made my way to the stiff forms of my friend and my brother’s girlfriend.

“Dammit.” I muttered.

But I sighed, knowing that they would be fine and this was probably something that Fate willed... though, I might’ve been able to save Penelope Clearwater and Percy’s nerves, but if I hadn’t even remembered _Hermione,_ there was no way...

“Harry and Ron aren’t gonna be happy about this.” I sighed, mustering up a grief-stricken and panicked face before I ran off to the nearest teacher to report this. Mustn’t let anyone think I’d known about this, after all.

As it was, the Heads of House and Madam Pomfrey were probably wondering why a Seer of my calibre wasn’t doing something; it was probably only by the grace of Alby that I wasn’t being interrogated about all the strange happenings. And anyways, they would still expect me to be distressed about my friend’s petrification... which I was, but not in the way they wanted.

I was distressed because _Tom fucking Riddle_ was out there again and I didn’t know who it was, I just knew _who it wasn’t._ Not that helpful, with the _entire student body_ being suspects due to that.

It was good that I wasn’t the type to freeze in the face of danger, because otherwise I’d be a sobbing mess. Having Dietrich’s support and Alby’s blessing and my brothers/Harry as sanctuary did wonders for my frayed conscious; I was still trying to do good for me and mine, and giving everyone else what was fair. The diary was my mistake, though, which was probably why I wasn’t just sitting back and letting it pass by...

“Lys!”

Ron had cornered me near the Hospital Wing; he’d probably just seen Hermione, maybe leaving Harry with her, and had been waiting to speak to me alone. Three guesses as to what he wanted!

“Haven’t you, you know, Seen something? Something about who... who’s doing this?” he asked, his eyes pleading.

I shook my head truthfully. “I don’t know, Ron. I’ve been trying to find out, but I just keep Seeing things from the past or things that’re happening _now_ , that I can’t help with.”

Hope filled his face. “You Saw what petrified Hermione?”

_Yes. But I can’t tell you, you’re going to talk to Aragog, the giant fucking spider..._

“I Saw her freeze up after looking in the mirror. Clearwater, too. So the mirror’s a key. Anything else... well, unless you need to know what wheat fields in America look like in the sunset — which is ‘very pretty’ by the way — I’ve got nothing.”

_Sorry, brother._

Ron sighed, shoulders slumping.

A twinge of guilt, overridden by knowing that I had to let things play out at this point. I had two projects going on: making sure canon was preserved, all events surrounding Harry Potter staying mostly the same on pain of death, and trying to make sure that the interference I’d already done (which had assumed I’d be flipping canon off this year, at least) wouldn’t kill someone. Trying to balance these things made me stressed, goddammit.

For all I knew, because Tom hadn’t possessed Ginny, someone would die.

(A darker part of me didn’t care, because Ginny was _my sister_ , and whoever it was didn’t seem to be important to me. I tried to squash that part down in favor of taking responsibility for my mistake...)

“I’m sorry, Ron.” I said quietly, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze.

He shook his head. “S’not your fault, Lyssie. Dad always said your abilities were better for information gathering than prediction — leave that to the Prophesiers, I guess. But... if you see anything-“

“If I can tell you, I will.” I said.

My brother gave me a funny look. “There’s something you _can’t_ tell me, then?”

I frowned at my mistake, but I nodded honestly. “Sorry. You’re going to hate it. But you learn something important, so it’s worth it. You know how Fate works.”

_Spiders._

Ron groaned a little. “Thanks for that, Lys.”

A weak smile. “You’re welcome, Ronnie.”

 

**…**

 

“Parkinson.”

Dietrich looked at me. “Hm?”

We were sitting in the common room, in a corner near the windows-into-the-lake. I had been waving at some passing merpeople when the thought hit me with the force of a freight train.

I grinned at Dietrich triumphantly. “She lied! When she said she got rid of it, the diary — it’s her, Parkinson! Listen, Tom’s a soul-stealer, right? Normally you’d notice when the victim is being eaten magically, but how would anyone notice if you’re isolated? Why would anyone care, if they’re an outcast?”

It made so much fucking sense! I couldn’t believe it took me this long... Somehow, Parkinson lied — I bet if I reviewed my memories or Saw the night after the duel, I’d find something inconsistent in her salmon-colored magic, something that indicated mistruth — and hadn’t thrown the book after all. After Malfoy cast her from the group (she still hung around them, just not on his arm anymore), she must’ve been lonely and sad and completely lacking self-confidence... the perfect victim for Tom.

I explained as much to Dietrich, whose eyes brightened with understanding.

“Alright. So it is her. She is the conduit for the Heir of Slytherin.” he mused.

I nodded frantically. “She _must_ be! She’s definitely stupid enough to write into a book that writes back.” Dietrich gave me a look. I rolled my eyes. “And actually _trust_ it.” He continued to stare at me. I looked away. “And not research what it is, thus trusting a sentient object with an unknown nature completely.” I mumbled.

Dietrich snorted. Snarky git.

“Whatever! Point is, we know _who_ she is...”

“I have doubts.” Dietrich said slowly, however, “She does not act like someone who is being possessed.”

“Well, she wouldn’t exactly care that the victims are all non-purebloods, would she?” I retorted, giddy with the new discover, “And she’s looked like shite since our duel, though that can also be blamed with Crabbe, Goyle, Bulstrode, and even _Zabini_ giving her a hard time.”

“Which Zabini?”

“Blaise. He was part of Malfoy’s group, you know, but avoided the fallout because his cousin looked after him. Even though he’s not looked down on, he _did_ still drop a few pegs in the social ladder because of Parkinson.”

Dietrich hmmm’ed, still looking a bit unconvinced. “What of Malfoy?”

I raised a brow. “What of him?”

“You said that Lucius Malfoy was the one who slipped Ginevra the book. Would his son not see the signs and save his friend, no matter if they are fighting?”

_Ooh._

I saw what he was doing here. Like how Dietrich had been trying to save _me_ when we were fighting — researching in the library, watching if I was acting differently, confronting me about Tom in the first place — wouldn’t baby-Malfoy try to prevent Parkinson from being killed? He made a good point, though... so maybe Parkinson didn’t have it? ‘Cos obviously Malfoy would...

“We’re assuming that Malfoy knows about the book at all. I’m not sure he does.”

“Why not?” Dietrich asked, looking slightly flabbergasted. I suppose it _would_ be strange, to him, that a parent wouldn’t warn their child of a danger they instigated. Dietrich wrote to his parents weekly, even more often than I did.

“Well, Lucius Malfoy wouldn’t want to incriminate his son, right?”

“Hm. True. But I wish to look into this. We do not want to confront Parkinson and discover that not only were we wrong, but we have now given her information that she can use against us.”

I frowned at the thought. “You’re right. I got overexcited. Sorry.”

Dietrich’s eyes warmed, and his lips twitched — like he wanted to smile but was restraining himself. “We are a team, Lys. Though... after this is over, we _will_ tell the others, right?”

I saluted, grinning. “After this is over. Hopefully in person.”

Dietrich gave a graceful incline of his head. “Good. I do not like to keep secrets from them. They are friends. But I understand why we are not telling _Harper_ about this; he is a creative strategist, but the boy’s head is empty.”

“Impulsive.” I said, remembering a conversation with the Baron, “More than I am.”

A thought occurred to me.

I blinked at Dietrich.

“How are _we_ going to wheedle information from _Malfoy_ and _Parkinson?”_

My friend hunched over, his eyes betraying his guilt. He had thought of this already. His reply did little to inspire me. “Using every bit of cunning we possess, _mon amie._ ”

“You’re not even French! Shut up!”

“I told you a million times, my household speaks French! Stop complaining!”

He threw a cushion at my head, which I deflected with a near-silent _Protego_ ; I sent a color-changing charm at his hair, which immediately brightened into a garish pink that had Dietrich’s eyebrows scrunch together (one of his few usual expressions). He snapped out some quick French that was probably all insults, and I decided to chuck _Spongify’_ d books at him, thinking of Harper and Lu.

When Lu and Jay came down to fetch Dietrich, they decided to join the fun. (We got a lecture on propriety and decorum from a disapproving Prefect Rosier, though behind him, Prefect Zabini looked amused and managed to get us out of the passionate scolding quickly.)

Dietrich and I gave each other firm nods as we separated into our dormitories.

_Parkinson for me, Malfoy for you — any trouble, and we’ll switch off at the end of the week._

The end of the week couldn’t come any sooner, however.

At one point, I would’ve been gratified to know how much fear I struck into Parkinson; every time I stepped in her direction, she’d stiffen, and every time I looked her way, she’d flee. It was smooth, of course, the way she managed to evade me with minimal amounts of looking like a frightened mouse scurrying from a predator — but once I was finally searching for it, _it was bloody obvious._

And annoying.

And to think, all I had to do was threaten to set her owl on fire as she watched then proceed to slaughter her in a duel, which ended only because I threatened to break her legs.

Shit, I sounded like such a bad guy.

_Whatever... as long as she isn’t dead, she has the chance to try to claw her way back to her old standing._

I even resorted to concentrating on her pug-face when I meditated, hoping to gain some insight to her fleeing patterns, or even confirm that she was the one opening the Chamber of Secrets. All I ever saw were flashes of her cooing over Malfoy in the future (ugh) or her following Davis around, who was obviously pining after Goyle (UGH), or of Malfoy telling her to piss off, which was a present vision. It seemed all she did was trail quietly behind Davis, her only friend; often, though, Davis had to step up to be leader ‘cos Malfoy was throwing tantrums again and scaring the shit out of the rest of them.

It came to a point, one evening, when I was cornered by Zabini.

That by itself wasn’t odd, but it wasn’t the Zabini I was friends with. It was the prefect’s younger cousin.

Blaise Zabini.

“I was under the impression you didn’t much like me, Zabini.” I said, surprised as he pulled me aside. He had the sharpness to his eyes and the strong features that I’d learned to recognize in Josephine Zabini’s face, but his nose was longer and his face was rounded with childhood.

“A silly notion,” he dismissed, “We were made opponents by bad circumstance. It’s not your fault that Malfoy insults everything that breathes. It was only a matter of time before someone who wouldn’t bow to him came along.”

Huh. That’s not what I was expecting.

“And here I was, expecting revenge. What do you want then? You’re pretty well protected, with your cousin watching over you.”

“I owe Josie for convincing me to go neutral, yes. And since she likes you, and she’ll be around for another year, you’re going to be important next year, too. So remember me then, when I warn you now: don’t provoke Malfoy anymore.”

I blinked. Then I cheated. The faint outlines of color deepened and brightened, my Mage Sight going full-force. Blaise Zabini was a royal violet, tinged with wine-red and an intelligent grey-blue. He had a lot of pride, and there was no quiver in his curling colors that spoke of anything but truth.

But Pansy Parkinson had managed to lie to me, so I kept my guard and Mage Sight up.

“Is he planning to put me down? This late in the year?” I questioned suspiciously.

Blaise Zabini shook his head. “No, for some reason, he’s decided to wait it out. He wants to wait until Josie’s gone, or something — not very clever of him, but Malfoy was never the sharpest of us. No, I’m talking about how you and Bastion are poking around.”

_Shit. Were we too obvious?_

“We’re not threatening anyone. We’re just watching; we’d’ve thought your camp- _Malfoy’s_ camp would make a move by now. The longer you wait, the more difficult it’s going to be to reaffirm your position. I’m a bit unsure of where you — specifically — stand now, to be honest.”

Zabini gave a catlike smile that was _much_ too similar to his cousin’s. “I like to think that I’m standing back, actually.” _For now,_ went unsaid.

I clicked my tongue. Malfoy may have his family’s influence, but Zabini had the bearing of a true Slytherin. He would side with the winner, it seemed; something he undoubtedly learned from Josephine Zabini when she saved him from falling with Malfoy’s camp. If he made a bid for power, it might be a close call...

I shook my head. _For now_ , Blaise Zabini was testing the waters.

“Why shouldn’t I provoke them, then? You’re warning me not to, but even if I were trying to poke the bloody hornet’s nest, all of the hornets are dead. Parkinson can’t even look me in the eyes without squeaking.”

Where I’d expected a smirk, Zabini’s face only darkened.

“I’m expecting a favor for this, Weasley.” he muttered; then he leaned forward ever so slightly, continuing in a quieter voice, “Malfoy’s been getting grief from his father over the decrease in power, and it’s making him angry. Parkinson’s the same, though it’s more that she couldn’t even hit you _once_ during the duel. Their camp is tense, and I would _not_ annoy them right now.”

My eyes narrowed as his rich colors shivered with worry. “Do you think they’re unbalanced? Will they react violently?”

Blaise quirked a brow. “They’re _Slytherins_ , Weasley. You have the mindset of a Gryffindor — Merlin help you — so I suppose you wouldn’t know: _we_ don’t snap at the first sign of pressure. But if you provoke them, they’ll provoke _back_. All I’m saying is you should let them lick their wounds in peace.”

I smirked. “I don’t think I owe you any favors, Zabini. I think I’d actually be doing _you_ one if I listened to you...”

He shrugged noncommittally. “Listening would benefit both of us, Weasley. Your choice.”

With that last word in, he left. Blaise Zabini’s warning only deepened my suspicion towards Parkinson, though... A twelve-year-old girl, recently outcasted for a stupid mistake, pressure from her family for her incompetence, her confidence shattered — I should’ve spelled a shiny, red bow on her, so that it was obvious I was giving Tom the perfect gift. While the rest of her friends were busy planning out how they’d grab power back from me, she was busy being possessed — and she looked no different from usual because she was already having a hard time of it (why would anyone think her stress was from being possessed, rather than all the crazy shit that was going on in her life already?) and she didn’t give two shits about Muggle-borns being petrified. Probably cheered her up, actually.

But I didn’t want to ignore Blaise’s advice completely.

So Dietrich and I toned it down a bit.

Which was nice, because now I could shift more attention to furthering my studies of warding and healing spells and meditation again. My wards were, sadly, elementary and easy to break into, if not painful — Dietrich attested to this with stinging welts on his hands when he grabbed a notebook from my bag — but my healing was coming along nicely! 

Lu and Harper, the main Quidditch nuts, often practiced throwing a Quaffle back and forth and managed to gain a few bruises from stupid incidents; Harper, by the way, was a clumsy idiot that didn’t think things through (“ _Why_ Harper, did you think that sliding down the banisters of the _moving staircases_ was a good idea?”). They were my practice dummies, and I was getting good at the basics after a year of intense study and constant training — and it was only the basics I needed, as it would be useful to be able to bind up your broken leg so you could stand and keep fighting in a war.

My Occlumency barriers were getting to a good point, too, with my more careful management of my visions. Bloody fucking things wouldn’t _stop_ — even Alby said it was highly unusual _I will only truly have left this school when none here are loyal to me... Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.” Dumbledore said before being taken away..._

_Harry and Ron listened — invisibility cloak —Malfoy laughed that his father had gotten rid of Dumbledore, finally, though he had been spoken to in quiet, irritated tones when Lucius Malfoy had left. The young heir, however, only let Harry and Ron see the smugness in his eyes before he turned to leave. Harry and Ron decided to follow the spiders…_

_“Follow the spiders! I’ll never forgive Hagrid. We’re lucky to be alive.” — “I bet he though Aragog wouldn’t hurt friends of his.” — “That’s exactly Hagrid’s problem! He always thinks monsters aren’t as bad as they’re mad out, and look where it’s got him! A cell in Azkaban! What was the point of sending us in there? What have we found out, I’d like to know! Stupid Lyssie!” Ron asked, shivering at the memory of spiders, spiders everywhere..._

_Harry frowned. “What’s your sister got to do with this?” — “Er, Lys used to say that, er, if I hung around spiders more, I, erm, wouldn’t be so scared of them. And that’s a right fat lie, if I ever heard one!” — “Sounds like something she’d say. But we_ did _find out that Hagrid never opened the Chamber of Secrets. He was innocent.”_

_Stop._

_Golden grass, overgrown, and brush with deep purple leave swayed — the sun was setting over the mountains, making the water glint like aluminum — “-never been here before, you know.” “Well, that means you have to go!” — laughing, snow in her hands, ice and the pavement, cracking and flying all over the place. Their breath was visible in the air._

_Stop._

_Have you ever seen the ocean?_

_A few times._

_Are you afraid of it?_

_I… I don’t have a great love for water, actually. I told you how my brother almost drowned? He’s afraid of it, too. It was only recently that he’s able to step into it, and even then, he’ll never let himself get further than knee-deep._

_Ah. Well, fear does so often rule us._

_So philosophical, for a teenager. Are you afraid?_

_Haven’t I said already, Guinevere? Distract yourself, so you aren’t afraid._

_Fear is important._

_Fear is crippling._

_Stop._

_The two walked back to the castle, thoughtful about different things. Images flickered by: Harry — Tom Riddle — catching Hagrid — the spider, Aragog, fleeing — Harry again — Tom Riddle’s trophy — Ron — the spiders — running for their lives — the Ford Anglia — Ron speaking to me — was it really worth it? — right outside the Hospital Wing — Hermione petrified on the bed — Ron and Harry..._

_They’d settled into their beds — Harry sat up, quick as light. “Ron! Ron... Ron — that girl who died. Aragog said that she was found in a bathroom. What if she never left the bathroom? What if she’s still there?”_

_“You_ don’t _think — not_ Moaning Myrtle?”

_Stop._

I snapped out of it, seeing Dietrich crouched in front of me with a quizzical fluttering in his blue colors, which had been looking a bit more persian-blue than ocean-blue lately. He seemed to have just finished calling my name, but for how long, I didn’t know...

“Er- Sorry. I space out a lot, y’know?”

Not the best excuse ever, but it should work, right? Not like I could tell Dietrich I was reading the past/present (I was a little unsure, but I think it was likely the past... Ron hadn’t spoken to me lately, though...)

He rolled his eyes. “You are ridiculous, Lys.”

“But you love me anyways. What did you need me for, then?”

“You did not hear it?”

“I was spacing out, Dietrich!”

“...You are worse than Harper sometimes. I am going to speak to Malfoy today; he is likely throwing curses at an empty room _again_ but perhaps I can speak to him without a duel breaking out.”

I shuddered at the memory. I’d Seen it happen, actually, a few days ago. Dietrich was dutifully watching over Malfoy, and then the bratty little shit started taking out angry spells on innocent, abandoned furniture. Dietrich had tried to stop him, almost panicked at the crazed behavior of the sore loser, but as they almost got into a wandfight, I’d snapped out of the vision and sprinted across the school to help. (We didn’t get caught, as I stopped the fight before anyone got hit, and Malfoy and I traded weak insults before he sneered and stalked away). 

Amazing, really, what the Slytherins were getting away with, now that Alby’d been taken out of the picture.

“In that case, I think I’m going to confront Parkinson.” _and hopefully stop her from being dragged down into the Chamber, ‘cos honestly, it’s getting a little close to the end of the year and I don’t want Harry to get stabbed with a basilisk fang._

Hopefully, _hopefully_ , Fate would let me get away with it. Because really, why the bloody hell would Harry go into the Chamber of Secrets for Parkinson anyway? She would die, and that’s bad. So I could stop her from going down there, and that’s good! Fate got to petrify people, the Golden Trio know of the existence of the basilisk and can thus fight it in their seventh year to get Horcrux-killing things, no one would die, the diary would be put away until the Horcrux hunt, and I’d fill in for the roles that Dobby would play in the coming years if I had to.

_I should honestly be having a breakdown or something, with how much shit I have to juggle around._

Fate better reward me nicely for playing along without (much) protest.

Dietrich sighed. “I suppose the year grows late.”

“We’re out of time. I want to get Tom put down _right now._ He’s had too much time with her.”

She’d been so desperate when she first got the diary, she became his damn puppet in an instant. That desperation, continuing throughout the year — probably only held back by whatever luck and Slytherin intelligence she had — could make a corpse out of Parkinson. Something I very much didn’t want to happen.

“All right. But I will attempt to speak to the little bratling anyways, since I already agreed to speak with him.”

My brows shot up. “You arranged a meeting with him? _Civilly?”_

Dietrich rolled his eyes. “I want to gauge his aggression. It might prove dangerous to us next year, if I do not see for myself. Perhaps he wishes to make excuses for his tantrums, to save face. Whatever the case, I would like to get a read on him properly.”

I nodded. “An armistice, then?”

“Yes. I just wanted to let you know. You may go back to... spacing out.”

“Ugh, you’ve knocked me out of it already, I may as well be productive. I’m going to find my brother and Harry, first.” _So I know what point of the books I’m at. I don’t know dates, it’s all by guestimation..._

Dietrich helped me up from the ground.

“We’ll speak later, my friend.”

I smiled at the title. Dietrich treated those words very carefully, and said them only when he was feeling exceptionally affectionate. I suppose the next time we’d see each other, I’d have the diary in my hands and we’d bury the fucking thing. It would be the end — the _true_ end — of our arguments this year.

“Don’t let the poncy brat get the last word in.” I called.

He raised a pale brow. “Do I ever, Lys?”

 

**…**

 

“Ron! Harry!” I called.

I’d found them in the staffroom, of all places — why they were here, I didn’t know, but I was curious. I gave my usual grin, and they turned, but before any of us could say anything more-

_“All students to return to their House dormitories at once. All teachers return to the staff room. Immediately, please.”_

Not a vision. McGonagall’s magically amplified voice, ringing through the hallways.

“Not another attack? Not now?” Harry said, his voice strained.

“What’ll- Lyssie, go back to your dormitory! Lyssie, you- Lyssie? Oy!”

I suppose Ron’s protective words were cut off by his worry when he saw my face. I had no doubt that I my face had whitened dramatically, blue eyes wide with fear and legs a little wobbly... well, everything felt a little wobbly, now that I thought of it, and the castle seemed to jump? No, that was me collapsing.

In shock.

Because I knew what that announcement meant.

_I’m too late. Parkinson’s been taken down to the Chamber…_

“Lys? Bollocks, let’s hide in here. Let’s hear what it’s all about. Then we can tell them what we’ve found out; Lys, sorry, you’ve got to hide with us — I want to know what’s going on.”

Harry opened a wardrobe full of cloaks, and I swallowed and nodded.

Ron seemed torn between his curiosity and his worry for his little sister. “But- Lyssie, are you okay? Maybe-“

I shook my head, stepping into the wardrobe quickly. “Not now, Ron; it was just a dizzy spell, and now you’ve got me curious too.”I said, flashing a weak smile and knowing my voice sounded too shaky to be convincing.

We piled into the wardrobe, Ron squishing me uncomfortably. We listened as McGonagall’s announcement was obeyed. The teachers gathered, McGonagall herself the last to arrive.

“It has happened,” she said gravely, “Students have been taken by the monster. Right into the Chamber itself.”

I closed my eyes; Parkinson had-

_Students? As in... more than one? The_ fuck?

“How can you be sure?” asked my Head of House.

“The Heir of Slytherin left another message,” said the Transfiguration professor, “Right underneath the first one. _‘Their skeletons will lie in the Chamber forever.’_ ”

“Who are they? Which students?”

McGonagall’s answer made me want to crawl into a hole and die. “Dietrich Bastion and Draco Malfoy.”

_No! No nO NO, WHY, godDAMMIT, NO!!_

Ron actually clamped a hand on my mouth, and I made a strangled sound. For the first time since my family had learned of my Seer abilities, I was actually crying. I barely saw the flash of pure, fucking _anger_ in Professor Snape’s magic; the colors _exploded_ outwards, though the most that happened was a wave of icy air displacing a few papers and lighter items, quills and things like that. Shifted in waves of magic.

“We shall have to send the students home tomorrow,” McGonagall went on, “This is the end of Hogwarts. Dumbledore always said...”

I think Lockhart showed up, but I was concentrating on trying to breathe with Ron’s hand over my mouth. I was concentrating on trying to _think_ with my best friend down in the Chamber with _fucking Tom Riddle._

Draco Malfoy had the diary the entire time.

_Desperate and lonely and scared; he needed to regain the ground he lost to me, he needed someone to trust after his most loyal nearly cost him his position, he needed comfort when it was obvious that I was closing in._

Draco Malfoy.

_Suspicious and intelligent and Dark; he was a pureblood, he would have keyed onto the price of such a wonderful little book, he’s been raised to be a Paterfamilias therefore he’s smart enough to make the connection from new book to new blank spots in his memory, he’s Dark so he’d know that there were things in this world that_ could _do this to him…_

The entire time.

_Desperate again; if Harry saw the diary, spoke to it, learned of the things he said, the person he was underneath the sneers and witty insults, he…_

Oh god, what the fuck have I done?

_Why didn’t you see this coming YOU’RE A SEER you were right there WHY DID HE TAKE DIETRICH why why whY WHY WHY are you USELESS you put him in DANGER it’s your fault you caused this your BEST MATE’S going to be fed to a FUCKING BASILISK and if you hadn’t been so STUPID Dietrich wouldn’t die HE’S GOING TO DIE him and Malfoy are going to die and it’s your fault damn you damn you DAMN YOU-_

When we’d finally gotten out, Harry rushed Ron, holding me, to some secluded alcove of a corridor and Ron released me quickly.

“Lys? Lys, I know it’s bad, I know Bastion’s your best mate-”

I didn’t let Harry finish his attempts at comforting me, though, because I whirled around and slammed into Ron’s chest, gripping at his robes and using him to muffle my scream. Ron was shaking, but his arms tightened around me as I sobbed into his chest and muted profanities and cries were all I could utter.

So this was the price Fate demanded for my interference.

My sister and my triumph for the life of my best friend.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I made my Tuesday deadline, if barely! Sorry folks, I took a five-hour nap and then had -- and still have -- a shit ton of homework to do, so. That's my excuse.
> 
> As always, thank you to those who comment/kudos/bookmark/etc.! You are much appreciated. :)
> 
> Now, this chapter is LONG. I could've split it into two but I didn't wanna do that to you guys. Heads up on that. I really hope this lives up to the hype I created last chapter. Enjoy!

 

**…**

 

_Professor Snape was not an emotional person, but he’d let out accidental magic in his rage as McGonagall spoke the name of one of his few first-year students — bright child who showed much promise in his future — his godson — bitterly set Lockhart on his way, angered that it was_ his _House who suffered two casualties, and then stormed down to the dungeons — grief and fury and shock, — colors rolling like an angry storm._

_Stop._

_“You’re a good friend, Lys.” — white walls and sheets and ceilings, high and airy, clean and sterile. She shrugged. — “It’s a selfish thing.” “Well, then, thank you for being selfish, Lys.” — ??? — dark skin and a sharp smile. A regal tilt of the head. “You’re lucky, you know.”_

_Stop._

_Slytherin Commons — black and green and silver and — greeted by the worried faces of first years — Harper and Rookwood looked almost in tears — hunched figures of Parkinson, Crabbe, Goyle, and Blaise Zabini._

_“Dietrich’s missing, Professor- Was there another attack? Did the Heir get him?” asked Harper — voice pitched high with confusion and worry — “Draco’s gone, too, Professor.” Zabini said — could not even muster up the energy to be gentle. Closed his eyes — wanted to sigh._

_“The Heir of Slytherin has taken both Dietrich Bastion and Draco Malfoy into the Chamber of Secrets.” — The first year boys flinched — Parkinson let out a wail. Crabbe and Goyle looked confused, looking around wildly as if Malfoy would pop up somewhere, and Zabini’s expression tightened. Rookwood began to cry quietly, Lucas Vaisey looking around nervously..._

_“Where’s Lys? We’ve got to tell Lys!” Jay said, shaking. — “She probably already knows!” cried Harper, a desperate hope in his eyes, “Th-that’s why she’s locked up in her dorm! She’s probably planning on getting Dietrich out now, so we should go help her-”_

_Stop._

_It didn’t hurt did it?_

_Hm?_

_I dropped the diary when one of the Slytherin upper-years nearly shoved me down the stairs. Dietrich and Harper caught me, but my things were all over the place._

_Who did that? Their name._

_Erm? I’m not sure. Lots of Slytherins treat me like that. Ripped things, Tripping Jinxes, prank hexes, the works._

_Pathetic. They’re all pathetic. Let me help you conquer Slytherin, Guinevere. I punished those who opposed me when I won as well, you know. They’ll never irritate you again._

_Kind of you, Tom. Oddly kind, but okay._

_Guinevere. You are in a dangerous position now, more than ever. I can help you._

_I know you can._

_Don’t friends help each other?_

_Oh, don’t guilt trip me into that! We_ are _friends, Tom._

_Stop._

_Professor Snape snapped his eyes to Prefect Zabini — never had a hair out of place in her entire career at Hogwarts — wildly stumbled into view from the girls’ dormitories — welt crossing her face with painful clarity — “Professor! We can’t find Guinevere! I forced open her dorm and it was empty!”_

_The Head of Slytherin spun on his heel — wayward snake... The brightest boy of his year-group, his_ godson _, and now the Slytherin power-holder, one of his favorite students? He would have a bone to pick with this Heir of Slytherin, who_ dared _target his snakes-_

_Stop._

I was probably the only Slytherin who’d been let into the Gryffindor Common room without any fuss from the lions. After Professor Snape found me clutched onto Ron, a mess, he’d snapped for Harry and Ron to follow him and silently led us to the Gryffindor Commons; he said he’d explain to his Slytherins, knowing that I needed the comfort of my family in the face of my best friend’s — _my Second’s —_ death. 

It was universal knowledge that Dietrich was my best mate, so the Gryffs mostly left it alone when Ron managed to pass me to George and the Weasley’s, and Harry, sans Percy (who was sending a letter to our parents in regards to my emotional state) sat in the common room.

I was curled up on George’s lap, holding his robes so tightly I was surprised that I hadn’t torn through them. Fred was on his right, holding my hand as I shook. Ginny was on the other side, stroking my hair quietly. Percy was sitting near us, looking pained at the emotional breakdown of his most level-headed sibling, Harry sitting with a rather damp Ron and looking sick.

I felt sick, too.

_YOU LET THIS HAPPEN TO HIM he’s going to die both of them are BECAUSE OF YOU you coward you FUCKING COWARD you can’t protect anything! Tricked by the DAMN BOOK because you’re weak weak you fucking useless, weak CHILD!_

Ron and Harry were so quiet that I shouldn’t have been able to hear them, but I caught one thing from my brother...

“She hasn’t cried since she was five.” Ron whispered, sounding shocked and broken.

Well, I had never killed someone before. I’d never killed my best friend. Maybe you only cry when you do it the first time.

_disgusting USELESS murderer!_

Murderer. That made me flinch. It wouldn’t be so bad if the victim weren’t an innocent kid who just wanted to help me... A boy who had a crush on me for a bit, a boy who’d spent nights researching possession to save me, a boy that had become as important to me as my family. My best mate, one of me and mine.

_WHAT’S BEST FOR YOUR FAMILY? YOU’RE NOTHING! YOU’VE DONE NOTHING!_

I would’ve burned Europe for him. But what would that accomplish now?

Hours and hours passed like that. My head a mess of screaming and sobbing, my face covered in tears, my hands filled with tearing fabric — like my nails were desperate to get to my palms, desperate to punish for this disgusting thing I’d done.

Percy had taken a turn holding my mess of a body, and he’d fallen asleep with his head tilted back on the couch. The twins had slipped off, probably to find something to try to cheer me up with or something, and Ginny had curled up next to me, her hand resting on mine.

What a bitter taste in my mouth. Evidently, me and my twin were fine now — I knew it instinctively that Ginny and I could be able to speak now — but it had cost the life of my best friend. I didn’t give a fuck about Draco Malfoy or what he represented in canon because Dietrich was trapped down there with Tom motherfucking Riddle, and here I was just... just _crying._

Being the only one awake in a mostly empty common room (many Gryffindors had dispersed, the misery of one of the only decent Slytherin and her usually happy family prompting them into subdued, sympathizing grief), I was the only one, really who saw Harry and Ron slip out _Knocking on the door, Lockhart peeked out of a small crack in answer, finding the short figures of Ron and Harry looking up at him solemnly._

_“Oh — Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley — I’m rather busy at the moment — if you would be quick-” — “Professor, we’ve got some information for you. We think it’ll help you.” — “Er-“ — Stumbling across his words, Lockhart eventually let them in. The room was bare — boxes and trunks — Harry and Ron frowned at the sight of the boxes on his desk. “Are you doing somewhere?” — “Er, well, yes. Urgent call — unavoidable — got to go-”_

_Stop._

_“Dietrich! Where are you off to, on your lonesome?” — kind eyes, familiar, he felt his face go gentle when she bounded up to him. “The Owlery.” — “Letter for_ Schwarzvogelschluss _, right? Want to meet in the Kitchens later, for dinner?” — Dietrich nodded — never had someone to make such plans with before — “Alright.”_

_Stop._

_Why such interest in wards and rituals, Guinevere?_

_I’ve got a Dark core and secrets to protect._

_Doesn’t everyone? Both wards and rituals take much more time to cast and perform, however. Would spellwork not be more beneficial for you?_

_Next year, Tom, I’ll have you tutor me in that._

_Next year?_

_Oh fine, I’ll give you tidbits of information if that’s what you want as payment._

_Ah, yes. I trust you to remember this. For next year._

_Stop._

_“What about Bastion?” Ron hissed, “My sister’s a bleedin’ mess ‘cos her best mate’s been taken down to the Chamber!” — “Well, as to that — most unfortunate- No one regrets more than I-“ — “You mean you’re_ running away? _After all that stuff you did in your books-“_

_“Books can be misleading.”_

_“YOU WROTE THEM!”_

_Stop._

My eyes cleared as I realized what was going on. All wasn’t lost... Harry and Ron were going to go down to the Chamber. I didn’t think they would, as it wasn’t Ginny down there, but... for me...

Goddammit, I was going to start crying again.

It’s not like Dietrich was awfully close to either of the two, but since he was _my_ best friend, my Second, they were going to save him. Ron just wanted to stop his sister’s crying and Harry just wanted to help his friends... even if it meant they’d have to help their rival, their enemy, Draco Malfoy.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

_My responsibility,_ I thought, wiping the tears from my eyes as I delicately removed myself from Percy’s arms, _My friend. My fault. My mistake. My responsibility._

As soon as I’d cleared the Fat Lady, I snarled at my own weakness, my own _stupidity,_ and angrily whipped out my wand from it’s place in my sleeve.

“ _Scourgify. Recipriflari.”_ I muttered, glad I’d learned the last one. My eyes cleared of their red-rimmedness, no longer puffy — I’d be able to see more easily like this, more able to _fight._

“Conjunctivitis Curse, Occaecous Curse, _Diffindo_ to the eyes — maybe a _Bombarda_ if I must...” my voice growled as I navigated the empty hallways, intent on the Chamber of Secrets. 

I was going to _kill_ the fucking basilisk, or at least help Harry kill it — Fawkes would blind it, but I think I had dibs on the fucking worm. The bloody pigeon could have one eye, and my wand the other. Not quite burning Europe to the ground, but killing a big damn snake would have to do.

It wasn’t quite the five stages of grief, I don’t think; was there a specific order of emotions? The denial stage lasted about three words, then I’d jumped straight to depression. I was angry now, but also bargaining... but I was also a Slytherin, so my bargains were a bit more vicious than asking Fate to do something for me. No, my ‘bargain’ was a promise:

If Dietrich was hurt, if _one hair on his head_ was hurt, I was going to fucking kill the basilisk, and I would laugh as Tom Riddle died.

_How dare you, you fucker! How_ ** _dare_** _you take one of_ ** _mine_** _from my_ ** _protection!_**

Something was going to die, because I was done fucking crying.

 

**…**

 

They left the Chamber entrance open, and I don’t think they were down there long; might even still be sliding, with how quickly I’d moved after I Saw them confront Lockhart. I wasted no time in jumping down, ignoring the grime, and I quietly used my feet and hands against the smooth stone to brake before I landed in a heap at the bottom.

Voices echoed.

“-under the school.” Harry’s voice said faintly.

“Under the lake probably.” replied my brother.

I ran after them, and Ron shrieked as I barreled into his back — it was dark and I could barely see a thing, in my defense.

“LYSSIE?” he shouted in horror, having recovered from his shock and turning to face me, “No- what- why- _What are you doing here?_ Did you See us? No, bollocks, _why did you follow us??”_

Harry chimed in, his own voice laced with horrified misgivings, “Lys, you shouldn’t be here! This is the Chamber of Secrets-”

I glowered. “I’ve got every right to be here!”

Ron hissed, turning me around, “Go wait by the entrance, Lyssie, it’s too danger-“

“Dangerous?” I said, shoving Ron off me, “For who? ME? No, it’s _dangerous_ for Dietrich! He’s _my_ friend — I’m going to save him, too! You and Harry are only a year older than me, the only adult here is an incompetent ninny!”

Ron glared. “You are _not_ going with us to the Chamber, Lys!”

“You’re NOT leaving me behind! I probably know more spells than you do anyways, Ron!”

“LYS-”

I huffed, knowing that this was going nowhere. “If I promise to stick behind you and stuff, will you just let me come with you? We’re wasting time!”

Ron was about to argue, but Harry called out, “C’mon, mate, Bastion _is_ Lys’ friend anyways. And we _are_ wasting time. Lys, just please stay behind us, alright? We’ll just grab Bastion and go, if we can.”

“And Malfoy.” I said, following close to Harry as he lit a _Lumos_ and led the way.

Ron made some sort of strangled groan. “I forgot about him. Do we _have_ to save his arse, too? He’s just- Oh. Oh Merlin. Harry — there’s something up there...”

We all stiffened, but this was going to take too much time. I rolled my eyes.

“It’s not alive. Don’t worry.”

“How-”

“Mage Sight, Ron. I’ll explain later, Harry.”

We marched towards the giant snake skin in good pace, and we all stunned by the size of it. It was twenty-ish feet long, I think, but just a skin. Falling apart, too; it was very old, meaning the basilisk was much bigger. I forget the exact details, but it would probably just around twenty-ish yards long? According to my Clairvoyance. Or previous knowledge. Whatever the case.

“Blimey...” Ron breathed.

Lockhart collapsed; I tensed, moving back from him and towards the entrance of the real Chamber. (I knew what was coming up and wanted to be on the right side of it all — and if Ron wasn’t going to face a damn basilisk and a megalomaniac, then all the better. He’d be pissed at me though…) Ron muttered something at the “fainting” buffoon, but yelped as Lockhart scrambled to his feet and dove at my brother, reaching for his wand — Harry was too late to stop him, even as he moved forward — Lockhart straightened with my brother’s fucked up wand, smiling viciously.

“The adventure ends here, boys! I shall take a bit of this skin back up to the school, tell them I was too late to save the boys, and that you two _tragically_ lost your minds at the sight of the mangled bodies. Say good-bye to your memories! _Obliviate!”_

Ron’s wand burst with magic, it’s core having been wonky and unattached to Ron’s fiery colors for a while now, aside from it being broken all year because of the Whomping Willow. Harry stumbled towards me, arms over his head, as the cavern ceiling cracked and caved in with a roar of stone. The noise was like thunder, crashing down in front of me, stirring clouds of dust and dirt and making me wince. In just a moment, Harry and I were standing and staring at the suddenly-formed wall.

“RON!” Harry shouted, “Are you okay? Ron!”

“I’m here! Is- Is Lyssie okay?” he called.

“We’re both fine.” I announced, coughing a little. _Ergh, don’t let my asthma act up, please…_

“I’m okay,” Ron said, “This git’s not, though — he got blasted by the wand...”

A muffled, “Ow!”

“I hope that hurt.” I hissed, happy the idiot was kicked.

“What now?” Ron asked, voice a bit higher-pitched than normal, “We can’t get through — it’ll take ages!”

I glanced towards the entrance of the Chamber worriedly, as we listened to Ron try to dig himself out and apparently throw chunks of stone at Lockhart (which would normally have me smiling, but Dietrich...) Harry did the same, glancing between the cave-in and the way forward.

“Wait there!” he called to Ron, “Wait with Lockhart. I’ll go on... If I’m not back in an hour...” He trailed off, swallowing. Seems he thought I’d stay with Ron; not an inaccurate assessment, but the kid probably didn’t factor in the fact that he was one of mine, too, and I wouldn’t be leaving him alone for anything.

“I’ll try and shift some of this rock, Lyssie from your side,” Ron called, “So you can- can get back through. And, Harry-”

Not for anything. Especially when, really…

“You don’t have to do this.” I said suddenly. “There’s no one in there that you care about.”

He was a child. Yes, he was the Boy-Who-Lived, but he was a child. My friend. One of _mine._ Why the hell was I even allowing this? Because of Fate, maybe, but was I trading more lives, this way? He didn’t deserve this.

Harry gave me a tight smile. “S’not about that. This is just... the right thing to do. ‘Sides, Bastion isn’t so bad. He’s _your_ friend, after all.”

_A hero at eleven,_ I thought, partly sad and partly exasperated, _A child._

“See you in a bit.” he said to both of us Weasleys, before he went on. He wasn’t shaking, but he should’ve been.

I waited until I couldn’t see him anymore, the shadows swallowing him, before I approached the wall very carefully and called for my brother to come closer so we could speak in normal volumes. Harry would open the door to the Chamber with Parseltongue, and I didn’t know if it would close again so I’d have to be a little quick — I had to follow Harry, but he needed to speak to Riddle first, without me there... he needed to understand what he was fighting, get the clues he needed to kill the Horcrux. I had no doubt that Harry was going to play to Fate’s tune, and fight the basilisk despite my efforts to prevent it... only, he’d be fighting for two, rather than just one. Dietrich _and_ Malfoy, not just Ginny anymore.

Good thing I’d be on his side, too. Two versus two for the sake of two, wasn’t that a laugh?

“Ron.” I said quietly.

He must’ve heard something in my voice. “Don’t you _dare_ , Lyssie.” came his snarl.

“Dietrich’s my friend. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t do the same if it were Harry.” My voice was soft.

Ron’s was not. “NO! It’s not the same!”

I couldn’t muster the will to be irritated at his stubbornness, like usual. He was just concerned, and why wouldn’t he be? “Ron. I have to go. It’s… you don’t understand, it’s my responsibility. He’s my best friend. I have to go.”

“Not where I can’t protect you! You’re _my_ sister! I’m supposed to be the one- _I should be protecting you!”_ His voice was slightly hysterical, and I could hear that he’d redoubled his efforts to break through the crumbling wall.

I chuckled. Protective big brother… I’d always wanted one, back in my first life. Now I had six and a twin sister, and I still loved it.

“Someone’s got to have Harry’s back when he does stupid Gryffindor things,” I said, still laughing a bit, “Since you’re a bit stuck, I’ll fill in for you. Besides… I’ve always wanted to see the Chamber of Secrets! I’m a Slytherin, you know.”

“Lys, DON’T!”

I was swallowed by the dark, too, my brother’s voice shouting after me.

 

**…**

 

Verbal spars were fun; I liked to get as creative as possible, as quick as possible. Magical duels were the same — just a bit more exhilarating, needing a bit more energy. But fighting a fucking basilisk and Tom Riddle was different, and I was shaking as I walked through quietly.

The Chamber was oddly reminiscent of the Slytherin common room, which shouldn’t have surprised me. A faint green glow seemed to shine on the dark stone and dance in the black water. Columns fashioned like snakes stood, casting pitch black shadows in odd and frightening shapes. The end of the chamber held a huge stone face carved into the expanse of the wall, and it was there two figures were sprawled in odd angles and two more facing each other, their voices echoing around me.

Harry was speaking.

“Look! I don’t think you get it. We’re in the _Chamber of Secrets_. You grab Bastion while I get Malfoy, we can talk later-“

“We’re going to talk now.”

_The voice of nightmares._

There was a pause. Then, “…How did Malfoy get like this?” Harry asked slowly.

“Well, that’s an interesting question.” Tom replied, “And quite a long story. I suppose the real reason Draco Malfoy’s like this is because he opened his heart and spilled all his secrets to an invisible stranger.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The diary. _My_ diary. We should go to the beginning, though. It started with Guinevere Lysandra Weasley — who, actually, I had been hoping to see. It was the only reason Dietrich Bastion was brought here, you know.”

This was de-railed from canon. I was curious, though. Draco Malfoy was, in fact, the possessed student, and I’d just gone along with the fact that Dietrich apparently was kidnapped. But, listening to Tom and Harry, I wondered: _why?_ Why would Tom take Dietrich, too? For me?

“What’s this got to do with Lys?” Harry asked.

“Hm. Lys, is she called? She never let me call her that. And I suppose that’s why I wanted to see her, in the _flesh._ You see, Harry Potter, it was Guinevere — _Lys_ — who had my diary first. She wrote to me of her life, of her troubles and triumphs... and it was not until I fell into the hands of young Draco there that I truly realized how very _Slytherin_ she was. I have never _lost_ to anyone before her!”

“You’re not making any sense!”

“I suppose not.” Riddle said sympathetically. “Shall I spin you a tale, then? Draco Malfoy was desperate to defeat the girl who could out-Slytherin the entire world, the girl who was a threat. He ordered a girl in his year to sneak into Guinevere’s dorm to steal the little diary she’d always been seen writing in, _the_ diary — _my_ diary. He happened to write in it, looking for a way to defeat the girl who wouldn’t be defeated, and he found me.

“I fed him nonsense, of course, but _kind_ nonsense. Sympathy, confidence, pride — little Draco, feeling _pathetic_ due to his near-defeat, ate it up. He’s been writing in the diary for months and months, telling me all his pitiful schemes and schisms — how Guinevere has _humiliated_ him, how Parkinson _disgraced_ him, how he needed help in getting his father to be proud of him again, how... he _detested_ the fame and admiration given to the great Harry Potter, who didn’t even want it in the first place...

“It’s very _boring_ , having to listen to the jealous, mediocre troubles of an twelve-year-old spoiled brat. I had a much more entertaining time, bantering with Guinevere... But I was patient. I wrote back. I gave him advise, compliments. Draco simply _loved_ me. _You’re the only one I really like around here, Tom... I’m glad I’ve got you to confide in... I think it was the best mistake I’ve made, stealing you away from Weasley...”_

A cold chuckle that I recognized all too well. I hugged my knees to my chest, leaning against a snake-decorated pillar, hoping it would stop soon before a vision of the Dark Tosser decided to come… I felt something heavy in my chest, something like guilt or hurt, an ache to have Tom Riddle back in the diary and harmless and resting in my pocket. He wasn’t…

It was… hard to listen. He wasn’t supposed to be like this, he was supposed to be quiet and snarky and teaching me wards and things. Not threatening me and mine. If only I’d been better, if only I’d managed to keep him away… 

“If I say myself, Harry, I’ve always been able to charm the people I needed — aside from Guinevere, of course. So little Draco poured out his soul to me, and his soul happened to be exactly what I wanted... I grew stronger and stronger on a diet of his deepest fears, his darkest secrets. I grew powerful. Far more quickly than Draco. Powerful enough to start feeding him a few of _my_ secrets, to start pouring a little of _my_ soul back into _him_...”

“What d’you mean?” Harry asked weakly, sounding horrified.

“Haven’t you guessed yet, Harry Potter? Draco Malfoy opened the Chamber of Secrets. He strangled the school roosters and daubed threatening messages on the walls. He set the Serpent of Slytherin on four Mudbloods, and the Squib’s cat.”

“I... but he said he didn’t do it. He said he didn’t know! I asked him, Malfoy-”

_Christmas. Polyjuice._

“Funny you should mention that, Harry. The convenient thing of it all was that he didn’t _know_ what he was doing at first. He began to suspect in his later diary entries, of course. He _is_ a child of the Dark, after all, even if he is a desperate, pathetic one. It was rather amusing...”

Then Tom’s voice took on a quieter note.

“It took a very long time for Draco to stop trusting his diary. But he finally had enough and tried to dispose of it, of _me_. And that’s where _you_ came in, Harry. You found it, and I couldn’t have been more delighted than if Guinevere came across it again. Of all the people who picked it up, it was _you_ , who I’d been most anxious to meet...”

Harry’s voice trembled, and I didn’t know if it was anger or fear. “And why did you want to meet me?” he asked. 

“Well, you see, Draco told me all about you, Harry. Your whole _fascinating_ history, in between childish insults and jealous outbursts... I knew I must find out more about you, if I could. So I decided to show you my famous capture of that great oaf, Hagrid, to gain your trust-”

“Hagrid’s my friend!” Harry nearly shouted, “And you framed him, didn’t you? I thought you made a mistake, but-”

Cold laughter. But it was softer this time.

I gripped my knees, wondering when I should pop out... Probably to blind the basilisk fucker. As soon as the basilisk came out, I’d blind it and then do my best to help Harry. Even though it made me supremely uncomfortable that Riddle spoke to Harry about me, and I knew I’d have to explain a few things to Harry after this was all over, I had to help.

_My friend. My fault. My mistake. My responsibility._

(Which friend was I talking about? Dietrich or Tom? …The fact I had to think about that made me hurt, because _obviously_ it was Dietrich. Tom wasn’t my friend. I was the only one who thought that.)

They spoke more on Tom’s terms. I listened with half a mind, running through my list of curses and hexes that might help. Then through my medical list, just in case Dietrich or Malfoy were hurt at all...

_Lucius Malfoy looked like he wanted to kill himself — messy, blond strands loosened from his normal — bags under his eyes, worry, pain, guilt, nonono not my son, not Draco — Professor Snape told him that the Heir of Slytherin had taken Draco. He stared blankly ahead — Narcissa cried into his shoulder. He knew that it was his doing — bloody book, black, “Keep this in your house, Abraxas. Protect it as you would be, or you shall know the consequences…” — somehow it made it to Draco and now his son would die..._

_Etienne and Elisabet Bastion — sobbing — clutching happy letters from their son. They had been worried — Dietrich’s letters had been curt in the first month, then overjoyed that he’d found a group to settle in — best friend to watch over —_ “Mutter, Vater. Sie ist sehr seltsam, ja. Ich bin der Erste, zugeben, aber ich bin hier glücklich.” _— worried when he wrote that his friend was acting strange — sitting in the Headmaster’s office…_

_Stop._

I shook the images out of my head. Future? Present? Lots of images, flashing by, lots of information soaked up, but it was unclear whether this was going on now or would be happening-

“Imagine how frustrated I was when the next time my diary was opened, it was Draco who was writing to me, not you. He saw you with the diary, you see, and panicked — some third-year Gryff was willing to steal from the great Harry Potter for a price, of course... one that Draco paid. Of course he did. What if you found out how to work it, and I repeated all his secrets to you, his enemy? Foolish boy. But I knew what I should do. It was clear to me that you were on the trail of Slytherin’s heir. From reading in between the lines of what Draco wrote about you, I knew you would go to any lengths to solve the mystery. And Draco harped on and on about how it wasn’t fair that _you,_ Gryffindor golden boy, could speak Parseltongue...

“Eventually I made Draco write his farewell on the wall and took the Bastion boy down here to wait. He struggled and shouted and became _very_ boring — Draco, that is. Bastion was a bit fun to speak to, quite a good Slytherin, no doubt the effects of being… _close_ to Guinevere. Draco seems less Slytherin than _you_ are, honestly. But there isn’t much life left in him... he put too much into the diary, into me. Enough to let me leave its pages at last... and I have been waiting for you and Guinevere since we arrived here.”

Harry shouted, “Why Lys? She had you for a while and you _failed_ to charm her!”

A pause. “Ah, but that’s exactly it. I failed. I do _not_ fail. I wanted to speak to her, but you came alone. Disappointing, but... no matter — I have many questions for you, Harry Potter.”

“Like what?” my friend hissed.

“Well... how is it that _you_ — a boy with no extraordinary magical talent — managed to defeat the greatest wizard of the age? How did _you_ escape with nothing but a scar, while Lord Voldemort’s powers were destroyed?”

Harry was cautious — slow — when he spoke. “Why do you care how I escaped? Voldemort was after your time...”

“Voldemort,” Riddle said, a trace of amusement in his voice, “is my past, present, and future, Harry Potter...”

Anagrams. _Tom Marvolo Riddle_ into _I am Lord Voldemort._

Oh god, I was about to fight a basilisk. Oh god, how the shit was I going to do this?

_Scopoccuo,_ my mind whispered reassuringly.

‘Follow the eyes’. A very specific homing spell. I’d been practicing it a bit, but I never thought I’d actually _need_ it. It was just a fucking complicated wand movement, and it only worked once the entire time I’d practiced! You could probably fail nine times out of ten and that would be deemed a good job. Shit, I was so dead. I don’t even think I had protagonist armor like Harry did...

_This isn’t a fucking book anymore, you dumb shit! The moment you were born into the Weasley family, it never really was! There’s no such thing as protagonist armor! Look at Draco fucking Malfoy!_

God, I was afraid. I was going to fight a damn huge snake and a book that almost had me enchanted, and I was afraid. My hands were trembling, and I almost felt like I couldn’t move. Like I’d just sit here, crouched and listening to Tom Riddle and Harry Potter, and Dietrich was in between them, him and Malfoy, and oh _god_ …

I closed my eyes. What would others do if they were sitting here, in my place? Dad would go. Dad would burn the fucking world to the ground and go. Ron would go. He’d dig a fucking hole with his bare, bleeding hands — kick Lockhart to the side and everything — and go. Dietrich would go, too. If he were here and I was there, between a boy-hero and a monster, he wouldn’t hesitate. That was who he was. But how?

How do I stop myself from shaking?

_Distract yourself, so you aren’t afraid._

_Fear is important._

_Fear is crippling._

_Stop._

Music.

Music as warm as summer and smooth as silk, loud and ethereal. It reverberated in my chest, as if it dove into my heart to drive the growing hoarfrost away, and I felt like I’d live.

_Fawkes._

“About time, you bloody pigeon.” I murmured, smiling.

“That’s a phoenix...” Riddle said, surprised and a bit disgruntled.

“Fawkes-”

“And _that_ — that’s the old school Sorting Hat.” Then Riddle laughed, the sound bouncing off the shadows and filling the Chamber as completely as Fawkes had just a moment before. “This is what Dumbledore sends his defender! A songbird and an old hat! Do you feel brave, Harry Potter? Do you feel safe now?”

Just a moment longer. Harry only had to feel alone a moment longer. I was right here, waiting. I couldn’t charge — I was no Gryffindor — but I could sneak and hide and lie in wait for the right time to strike, the first opening. I was a Slytherin, and that’s the only way I could help, pathetic as it was...

There!

A hissing, following more monologuing, and the grinding of stone on stone. The basilisk was waking.

Another hiss that surely meant ‘Kill him’ as I’d remembered from the books. Then the scuffing of stone, Harry running, and the slithering of scales on the damp rock of the Chamber-

“ _Scopoccuo Bombarda!”_ I snarled, eyes shut as I stepped from the pillar and pointed my wand at the source of the sliding-sound. “ _Scopoccuo Diffindo Maxima! Scopoccuo Conjuntiva!”_

An inhuman scream.

Then a trill of the phoenix, and another hissing roar. I opened my eyes and saw as Harry was about to be bitten, Fawkes swooping in and blinding the far-side eye; because, heh, I had managed to destroy the one facing me. Somehow.

_Don’t be afraid._

_Stop._

I felt a lot better about myself, and as Riddle screamed in Parseltongue and watched Harry shove the Sorting Hat on his head, I darted forward to the two pale, prone figures that were being ignored. Them, before anything.

“Dietrich, Malfoy...” I muttered, feeling for their pulses; one was strong and steady, the other barely a flutter beneath his chalky skin. That had to be good enough, I had to help Harry now-

I looked to Harry, after hearing a resounding CRASH! that was a pillar being smashed into by a blind 60-foot snake. He was fighting the basilisk with the sword, alongside Fawkes. I pushed myself to my feet ( _They’re fine now, Lyssie, go help the kid battling the fucking Serpent of Slytherin!)_ and ran to his side as he dodged a blind lunge from the basilisk.

“LYS?!?!”

“No time to talk, Harry- _PROTEGO MAXIMA!”_

The bloody worm almost bit Harry but my shield gave us enough time to leap out of the way. Harry swung at it’s thick hide and the sword of Godric Gryffindor managed to make a shallow cut — not enough to damage, but enough to surprise the hell out of the basilisk whose scales had been imprenetrtbable for a thousand years.

But a hissing, strangled snarl had the basilisk still suddenly.

I blinked, and both Harry and my gaze went to Tom Riddle, who was looking at me in shock. He had stopped the basilisk.

I blurted out the first thing on my mind. You know. Like an idiot. “Could you _be_ anymore anticlimactic, Tom?”

“Guinevere Weasley. You came.” he said, the cold amusement he’d been using with Harry melting away into... genuine surprise?

“What of it? You said you were waiting for me, well, here I am.” I bit out, wondering what he was doing. Why stop the basilisk when I showed up? To freak me out, maybe? Because my heart was pounding with adrenaline, wand gripped tightly enough that it almost hurt.

Not that it wasn’t a good thing, the stopping. In the corner of my eye, I saw Harry inch his way to the basilisk’s mouth; the only soft spot, I suppose. It was slow going’s — I’d need to buy more time, speak to Tom, to get him all the way to the fucker’s open jaws (the obviously poisoned fangs made me wince)

All right. I could do that.

Tom tilted his head to one side. A pause, the silence booming. 

“I knew Harry Potter would come, his curiosity and hero-complex spurring him to save whoever the victim was — even his schoolboy enemy. Perhaps especially so. But you... you, Lys, needed an incentive. You are a Slytherin, after all. I wanted to speak to you.” he said.

Harry was only a quarter of the way around the basilisk, which was twitching in pain of its lost eyes and coiled in around itself, looking rather harmless. Bullshit, of course, a little creepy hissing from Tom and it would be on us again, but Tom was effectively distracted for some reason.

“Well, congratulations, Tom. I’m here. And I’m rather pissed off at you.” I said flatly, willing myself not to look at Harry and give him away, “And _incentive?_ That’s a load of hippogriff dung! Couldn’t you bloody tell that I would go after whoever had the diary, because I would feel it was my responsibility?”

“I couldn’t tell much about you,” Tom admitted, his voice still that quiet, almost _soft_ tone that I hadn’t thought Voldemort capable of, “All I knew was that when I felt the Parkinson girl enter your rooms, no doubt looking for me, I reached out for her.”

_Diary — black book — underneath — papers everywhere, parchments, essays — diary hidden in the folds — Parkinson entered, crying, hurt — “I got it, Draco.” “Good, Pansy. Thank you.” —_ _Hello, Draco Malfoy. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my diary?_ _— painful effects of breaking wards — looking for him — looking for the diary-_

I opened my eyes, surprised that I’d closed them in the first place.

“And you say that you hate Muggles.” I said, smirking at the incredulity of it. “An object that abandoned its owner and searched for another?”

“Yes...” He sounded almost questioning.

I wanted to snicker at him. It was ridiculous, this whole situation was ridiculous, and my heart was still poundingly aware of the basilisk threatening painful death. “Hmph. You’ve _definitely_ read Tolkien. I’m getting some very _one ring_ vibes from you and your diary, Tom. _Ash nazg duburtaluk_ and all that.”

A twitch of his lips again. A smile? Weird. “Perhaps I have read that particular series.”

“HA!” I barked out, trying to imagine a snake-faced Voldemort with reading glasses, using his evil yew wand to turn the pages of _Fellowship of the Ring._ “I win! Dad always said Muggles were interesting — even the _Dark Lord_ will read some Muggle fiction.”

My humor died away as something felt very familiar about this conversation.

Then I glanced at the diary.

_Buy time, Lyssie, just buy time…_

“So... why?” I asked, feeling rather confused about it all. (A twitch of hurt, because it wasn’t supposed to be this way, it wasn’t, if only I’d kept him in the Horcrux, away from everyone else-) “Why did it happen, then?”

“Why what?” he asked softly. I didn’t even notice that he had walked closer, and we were at respectable conversation distance. Harry was halfway to the basilisk’s open mouth, the rubies of the sword of Gryffindor glinting like winking eyes. So close.

“Why was the first owner abandoned?” I asked, “Why call out to Parkinson? My soul wasn’t good enough, then? Not that I’m complaining, but... you would’ve had me, you know. I thought of you as a friend for a moment, before Dietrich set me right.”

Tom’s face twisted into an irritated scowl, and I almost stepped back in fear. But my pride wouldn’t allow it, and I was rooted into the stone. He glanced back at my unconscious friend, face darkening.

“Clever child, Dietrich Bastion.” he murmured, “He knew right away when he saw Draco that it was really me underneath. Tried to run, to warn you... He’s only Stunned, you know. I did not want to turn you against me.”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“I doubt you’re unfamiliar with the pattern. Slytherins always are.”

I laughed softly. So evasive. So _Slytherin._ “It’s almost like Tolkien, isn’t it? The first owner was abandoned. Why? Why was the first owner abandoned, Tom? Because they were weak?”

Perhaps I hadn’t been good enough for him. It should’ve made me feel relieved, maybe even offended, but…

He snorted. “You would think of Tolkien here, wouldn’t you? Silly girl. Because they… you… were weak… No. Not at all...” he answered, looking the most human I’d ever seen or expected of him, refusing to meet my eyes. “Because I was.”

_Lord of the Rings — conversation — high pitched voice and deeper male — red blood black robes grey stone white fang — because they were weak? — visions — Hospital Wing, high white ceilings and — no not at all because I was._

_Stop._

_I’ve seen this,_ I realized.

My eyes widened. “What?”

Harry was almost there, but he was slowing. He was listening to us.

Tom gave a crooked, somewhat wry smile. “I could not possess you, Lys — not for lack of trying, no — you were clever but you so easily believe in the _good_ in people. A habit you will have to kill. No, I could not... muster _the will_ to drain your soul away. It was most curious.”

In my peripheral vision, Harry Potter paused completely, looking stupefied. I wanted to glare at him to keep going, but I was a bit focused on the fact that the _fucking Dark Lord_ just admitted that he hadn’t wanted to steal my soul. The actual _fuck_ was going on?

“...You... what? Wait, what?” I asked, extremely articulately.

“I did not understand,” he admitted, looking at his solidifying hand with fascination, “I did not want you to die so I could live. But as this... reluctance... grew, so did my desire to be free of the diary. So I decided that perhaps my container, my diary, was corrupted somehow. I wanted to speak to you, face to face, properly-”

“In the flesh.” I repeated faintly.

He gave a single, graceful nod. “You said,” he muttered softly, “that you’d have me tutor you in spells next year. I… wanted there to be a next year. For some reason I can’t fathom.”

I wanted to moan into my hands. This was not supposed to happen.

This was not fucking canon at all. What the actual- _Tom Riddle_ actually liked me. I didn’t even know he _could_ like someone. Fucking hell! So when I felt friendship for him... when I myself grew attached, it was a _mutual thing?_ WHAT? Why the bloody _fucking flying fuck_ does this keep _happening to me?_

_Fate, you bitch, you are laughing at me._ I cursed to myself.

“Speaking to you now, it seems the sentiment has not faded.” Tom went on, looking a bit puzzled at himself, “So I will offer to you a choice, Lys: join me willingly, or join me under the Imperius.”

My fists clenched. 

_Fred’s empty eyes — George’s face covered in blood, hands frantically trying to stem the — Bill’s wand spitting spells, falling, loosened hands and screaming — Ron curling in on himself, shivering, red light and the witch cackling as he — BROTHER-KILLER, MURDERER, MONSTER!_

_Stop._

“Never.” I spat.

Tom didn’t look perturbed in the slightest. “Ah. So the latter option, then.”

Fuck this stupid little git. He was treating me like some sort of favorite toy or something. His glaring at Dietrich made sense, now — the little shit was jealous. If you got over the fact that Tom Riddle seemed to like me, it was easy to see that Tom was pissed that Dietrich was my best mate and had also tried to turn me against Tom when I’d actually been a little attached to him.

And honestly... very, _very_ honestly... I still was.

This wasn’t Voldemort yet, after all. It was a kid who _would_ become him. But really, all this Horcrux was, was a sixteen-year-old who had never had a friend before. He did a horrible thing, murdering Myrtle, of course. But… But still.. I’d been a friend to him, and I was fifty years too late. Redeemable, that was it. I felt like he was redeemable, at this point, and the stupid-ass bleeding heart I was, I wanted to redeem him.

_If Fate reincarnated me back then, would I have saved you from all this?_

No. There was no time for that.

(Murderer. Brother-killer. Monster.)

(Don’t forget what you’re fighting against, Lys. Don’t forget what you’re fighting for. Fight hard enough and you’ll never be afraid.)

“ _Impedimenta!”_ I hissed, though the spell went right through him. It did its job, though, and Tom was startled by my sudden aggression; I threw a hasty shield up and screamed to Harry, “ _Kill it_ ** _now_** _!_ ”

“NO!” Tom roared, then he screamed in Parseltongue.

A blast of magic knocked me back, from Harry’s wand in Tom’s hand, and I was thrown against a pillar painfully. My back slammed against stone scales, no doubt bruised by the force, and I crumpled onto the ground. I breathed hard, seeing stars — had I hit my head? — and by the time I’d recovered enough to look up, Harry had somehow managed to get his arm stabbed with a _fucking basilisk_ fang and his sword stuck up the basilisk’s fucking brain. Dammit. I’d failed again — when was I ever _not_ going to fail the things that really mattered?

“You’re dead, Harry Potter.” Riddle snarled, standing over a severely poisoned Harry and a weeping Fawkes, “Dead. I will drain the life from Draco Malfoy, _Imperio_ Lys, and have her cast the curse to kill her little friend. You won’t be alone in death, at least, Potter. Lord Voldemort knows mercy.”

I grit my teeth and staggered up, leaning against the stone. I had to get to the diary — it was so far from Harry, because of the brief ceasefire I’d caused. That wouldn’t do. How the hell had he gotten it the first time? Luck? He had to stab it with the basilisk fang, he had to kill the Horcux. He had to kill Tom, who even now I couldn’t help but think was my friend.

My friend that snarked to me while I tutored my firsties, my friend that-

_Fuck! He’s got me good, the bastard. I could’ve been the poor sod openin the Chamber if Tom hadn’t suddly opened eyes to the power of fucking friendship. Vision swimmin- No, no, ju get to the diary. Go on, you can do it Lys, and then we c’n laugh with Dietrich about it after he scols you..._

“I’m going to sit here and watch you die, Harry Potter. Take your time. I’m in no hurry.” Tom sneered, no doubt angry that Harry’d killed his fucking snake and I’d helped by distracting him.

(I wonder. Did he see it as betrayal?)

I lurched towards the diary, near the stone head of Salazar Slytherin, and dropped it a few times before I managed to pick it up. There was blood on my fingers, my grip with slippery. I lurched towards the diary, near the stone head of Salazar Slytherin, and dropped it few- Wait, shit, fuck, I ready did that. What was I doing again? Reading Harry Potter?

“Phoenix tears... Of course... healing powers. I forgot.” came Tom’s voce.

Fawkes. 

In the book, Fawkes had gotten the book for Harry.

I looked up unsteadily, and promptly chucked the diary at the blurry red-gold thing in the air. A trill — of thanks? — and then there was the most monstrous scream, piercing and shrill as a banshee, echoing round the cavern. Looking over at Harry, black stuff was bursting out of the diary — ink? — and Riddle stepped back in horror. His image began to crack and glow eerily, and unlike canon, it was slow-fading.

Yes, unlike canon, Harry shouted in pain and passed out (perhaps the Hocux in his _fucking face_ was reacting to the death of a brother, or basilisk venom hurt like a motherfucker) as Riddle watched his hands with fascinated horror, crumbling away like he was eroding. I don’t remember how, bur I was standing before him in a moment, blocking his view of Harry — if he tried to touch the poor kid, I’d deck him, concussion or no.

If he tried to touch the poor kid, I’d deck him, concussion or- GODDAMMIT, I fucking hated concussions. Things kept repeating. I couldn’t tell what I was doing... And time was moving strangely. Was I standing between them?

Tom looked at me, and there was fear in his eyes.

_Fear is crippling,_ he’d said. It made you shake and feel like you couldn’t move. It made you close your eyes. He was very afraid.

It should’ve made me smirk or sneer or something, but I only felt sad. I guess he still had a bit of my soul or something, because as pieces of himself began to shrivel into dust, I could only smile sadly. It was stupid, I guess, but I was impulsive and affectionate and impulsively affectionate and I couldn’t help but want to say something silly and snarky and maybe see Tom Riddle at least go with a bit of a smile on his face.

“I never gave you permission t’call me Lys. Prat.” I said faintly, “But I guess you c’n. Whatever. It’s probably whatever you did. To me. With th’diary? I think I’m crying. Might be the con... cudgeon, though.”

Tom seemed shocked, angry, in pain, fearful, _angry_ , and everything in between... but it all seemed to evaporate into a tired sort of acceptance. All else was simmering underneath that. Heat underneath cool.

“You are infuriating.” he muttered, but his voice was all whispering and echoing now, and maybe that’s why I couldn’t hear the anger. “And I am pathetic. Destroyed by a twelve-year-old because I was distracted by an eleven-year-old.”

“Friends don’ put other friends under th’mperius Curse. That’s very bird- no, er, bad. Very bad.”

He looked at me strangely, his face literally cracking a little. I think most of his legs were already gone. How was he floating? Weird... Magic was _weird..._

“Are we friends, Lys?” he asked, looking more human than I’d ever seen him even as he dissolved into smoke before my eyes.

_I am your best friend? — broken sort of hope, like he doesn’t believe it’s really happening. It’s sad, the way — “Are we friends, Lys?” —_ _A pleasure, Guinevere. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my diary?_ _— reddish purple, once upon a time, but then large, calloused hands always held her — precious smiles — bluing out, settling into a more regal color. Reserved, afraid, protective, defensive, no no no me and mine no-_

_Stop._

I grinned, but it was difficult. I couldn’t think. It was hard. “Why wouldn’t I wanna be friends with a Horcrux? Soul-stealer. Haha. Really, it’s not like I meant to. Friends… happen that way. Accident. An’ we’re friends. Don’ think I don’ see m’colors in you, Tom. Sneaky thief.”

Stupid blurry concussion vision. Or were those tears? Fuck. I couldn’t see properly, even though the colors were obvious. Even as they writhed in pain and began to crumble along with their master, they were clear: black, with a core of weak crimson; and in the center, small as a needle’s eye, was a pinprick of deep, very familiar indigo.

_Color thief._ I thought, almost fondly.

He snorted out a semblance of a laugh. “You’re teasing me.”

I looked back to those conversations we’d had. He said the same thing, once.

“That’s what friends do, Tom. They tease.” I echoed, swaying where I stood. Why was it difficult to speak in my usual way? I was all choppy and stupid-sounding, goddammit.

My knees suddenly buckled, though, and it was only when Tom grabbed me that I managed to steady myself. He looked surprised at himself, at his ability to retain tangibility even as he was filtering life force back into Draco Malfoy; but he looked more surprised at the fact that he’d tried to catch me in the first place. My blood was on his hands, and it, too, eroded as he did. 

I laughed a little, feeling sick. I was watching my friend — who wasn’t really my friend — or was he? — die slowly. He was my friend… Or was he my friend? He tried to catch me as I fell. I laughed a little, feeling sick. Or had I done that already? Things were still very blurry. I could barely concentrate on the colors, they were going away... No, wait, _Tom_ was going away. Right. I laughed a little. I felt sick. 

“Pathetic.” he said again, quietly.

I blinked away black spots in my eyes that I didn’t think were colors. “No need to be rude, Tom. You shov’me into a pillar. A snake pillar. Rember? No, erm, re-mem-ber? It’s hard to think, I can’t even recall m’Healing spells. Bollocks.”

“Not you.” he said, sounding a bit exasperated. “Me.”

“Narcissist.”

He huffed that little laugh again. He was mostly gone. There was only a bit of his torso left, arms gone, face half floating away into nothingness. A crumbling bust. His remaining eye, blue and narrowed, looked a bit sad.

“I wish you had been born in 1926.” he whispered. Then he shook his head, what remained of it. “You must think me foolish.”

“I think everyone’s foolish. Teenagers especially.” _I was one, once. It was horrible._

I blamed the concussion for the flippant, random answers.

He chuckled, the sound slipping away so quickly that I might’ve imagined it. “A child,” he muttered, “More than fifty years old, and I was taken apart by a _child._ Because I wanted a _child_ to-” He swallowed. That expression on his face was so lost, my heart ached. “-to be my friend.”

The last few words were whispers. His voice was fading, too.

All that remained of his colors was a struggling crimson, curled around that pinprick of indigo. As if it was protecting that piece of itself, that piece of _me_ that he’d stolen, with everything he had. ( _Color thief,_ I thought. Again?) That was probably why he hadn’t faded so quickly; there was something he was trying to live for, a tiny color in his magic he had wanted so badly that he’d threatened to _Imperio_ me for it.

“Haven’t figur’ it out, ‘en? Silly Tom. I think li’ a 19-year-old, at the ver’ least. Reincarnations an’ all that.” I said, watching the red wither and the bleeding ink slow to a trickle. Like there just wasn’t enough, like he was bleeding out.

He paused, then searched my face for something that he must’ve found, ‘cos in another moment, he was smiling. 

“Ah. That’s not so bad, then.” he said, laughing as he went.

_Color thief._

I think. Laughing? I laughed a lot, too, so it might’ve been me. Hey, I didn’t have my Occlumency barriers up! And the visions weren’t coming! Did this mean I wasn’t a Seer anymore? I should’ve smashed my face against a snake pillar before!

I turned to look at Tom and give some sort of stumbling reply reflecting my strange thoughts, but-

Gone.

_My chest hurts. I feel sick. Ow- my chest hurts. Not fun._

With that, I really fell over and somehow had crawled to Dietrich and Malfoy, who was looking more colorful and evenly breathing and everything. My hands were covered in blood and ink as I approached their forms, and I really fell over and somehow had crawled to Dietrich and Malfoy, who was- Um. I really fell over... No, I crawled... Shit, I was there already.

Somehow.

“Dietrich. Shit. Bollocks. Erm. Dietrich. _Stupef-_ no, tha’s not th’right one, tha’s th’wrong one. Dietrich. What spell’s’it? Um, dammit... _Ennervate!_ Yes, that’s right.” I babbled, trying three times before I realized I was holding my wand wrong.

“ _Ennervate. Ennervate. Ennervate.”_ I repeated for all the boys.

Dietrich first, since he was right there. Actually, he was the only one who got up because I missed the first and last time. I watched in a daze as his dark grey eyes fluttered open, and he looked a bit confused before his entire body stiffened and he flew up, smashing his forehead into mine.

I saw stars. Wow.

“BLOODY- Lys? What’s wrong with you? Are you alright? It’s Malfoy, like I thought, he is the one Tom is possessing- Lys? _Merde_ , you’re bleeding!”

“Ya hit m’ head wi’ your head.” I said, blinking rapidly, “That hurt.”

“I do not think that is why you are bleeding. Where is my wand? Ah, the _fils de pute_ didn’t take it. Here, Lys, face me... _Scourgify, Scourfigy, Episkey._ You are bleeding a lot, I do not think _Episkey_ will help.”

I laughed a little, relieved that Dietrich seemed wholly unaffected. Or maybe I couldn’t tell because things were _really_ weird right now.

“So mum-like. Guess you’re all nice and better. So. Revive… erm... ‘em. Those two. Harry got bit by th’basilisk! Then he _stabbed_ it.” It was _so_ much harder to think now, and the adrenaline was going off, and my chest kinda hurt ‘cos Tom had died and I felt bad even though he was not a nice person. My chest hurt. “Then Fawkes blubbered all over him, so... I tried to _Ennervate_ but I think I missed. Dietrich, I’ve got a cushion. Con-cushion? Cusscushion. I can’t think...”

“Concussion. _Merde.”_ Dietrich swore again. “You stay put. I’ll revive Potter.”

Here we go. I could talk properly, I swear. “Thanks, mate. I’ll stay here.”

Nailed it.

I watched as Dietrich rose a bit stiffly (the Chamber can’t have been a lovely place to nap) and he _Ennervate_ ’d Harry. There was some sort of scuffle, Harry probably thought he was being attacked or something, but eventually after some loud shouting that made my ears ring, they both came near me. Harry was holding Tom’s corpse; I mean, the diary. The diary with a hole in it. My chest hurt and I laughed a little and I felt sick.

I greeted Dietrich. “Thanks, mate. I’ll stay here.”

Wait. That’s not what I wanted to say. Shit.

Dietrich glanced at Harry. “Concussion,” he explained bluntly, “It was not so bad before; she managed to _Ennervate_ me, but then I... accidentally hit her head and I believe it got worse.”

Harry glared at Dietrich disapprovingly. “What’d you go and do that for, then?”

“Similar to you, _Potter,_ I thought I was being attacked when I woke up and someone was leaning over me with a wand in their hand. We should wake Malfoy — the stupid child looks alive, at least.”

“Prat.” I said quietly, remembering Tom. _Color thief._ Then I started crying and Dietrich looked very, very lost. He turned to _Ennervate_ Malfoy, since Harry didn’t know how to cast that quite yet. I think. When was that spell taught, anyways? I didn’t know, I couldn’t think, and then I started crying- No, I was crying already. I think.

Harry patted my shoulder, looking worried. “Lys? Does it hurt somewhere?”

I nodded, sniffling. “He took my colors! My colors. Him. He used t’be black an’ red. But not an’more, Tom’s dead. He was. But he took... colors and... um... I’m indigo. Use’a be red, ‘en Dad was blue, so I’m indigo. Purple-ish. He took some, the Dark Lord Prat.”

“Colors... as in Mage Sight? The thing you were telling me about, over the summer? In the Hospital Wing…?”

I smiled. “You remember. Yup, good. Smart Potty. Merlin, tired... I’m tired, do you levitate? Wingdardum Levisa _,_ see? You remember. I’m gonna sleep.” ‘Cos sleep sounded so nice right now, it sounded amazing.

Harry gave me an indulgent smile that was a bit too nervous, and then called over his shoulder to Dietrich, who seemed to be speaking quietly to a waking Malfoy, “Er, Bastion, Lys says she’s going to sleep-”

“What? Do not let her! Lys, do not sleep! You might fall into a coma!”

“Er, right. Lys, you can’t sleep.” Harry repeated, shaking my shoulder.

I groaned and squinted at Harry. His eyes were very green. Why wasn’t he in Slytherin? “M’not gonna sleep, the nightmares. They’ll come and... er, it’s bad. I think. You’re very colorful. Did you know? You have the same gold as Ronnie.”

“Errrr... alright. C’mon, Lys, we’re leaving. Put your arm over my shoulder here.”

Harry maneuvered me so that he supported my weight as we walked. Why did everything seem so much _stranger?_ Cushions. Alright. I mumbled to him as we walked and he had to take my wand away when bees started going out the end. Bees, like the craterwiggle bees. Luna would like them. An _alliance_ , right? Harry maneuvered me so that he supported my weight as we walked. We walked.

“Harry, did we walk already?” I asked, wondering if I had de ja vu.

He didn’t answer, but muttered to himself despairingly, “Ron’s going to kill me.”

I nodded, agreeing. “S’not good, you hav’to take care a’girls. Should’ve told Tom that, when he put me in a snake. Er... a pillar. He put me in a pillar. Now I have a cudgeon ‘cos of him.”

“Er- Lys, there, there, don’t cry…”

“Am I crying? Bloody hell! It’s Prat’s fault, Tom shouldn’t’a put me in a snake and Dietrich... gave me stars. Wow. No, another cusscushion. Merlin, I-” _can’t think at all are we walking? Tom died and I wachd and it hurts but I hav a cudgeon-can and it’s difficult dfcult to think._

Harry huffed out something like a laugh. Maybe. “Ron’s _really_ going to kill me. You’re hurt and crying...”

“I’m not! Hurt. Not the way you think. I’m not hurt. I’m not.”

_My friend. My fault. My mistake. My responsibility._

(Who was the friend?)

_More than fifty years old, and I was taken apart by a_ child _. Because I wanted a_ child _to- to be my friend._

(We were friends, weren’t we?)

_I never gave you permission t’call me Lys. Prat. But I guess you c’n. Whatever._

Harry’s arms were around my shoulders, trying to lift me up. He looked indulgent and worried. I hoped he wouldn’t get too beat up by Ron. He was a good kid. “Er, alright, Lys. C’mon, then. We’ll walk now, alright?”

(Did you know? I only let me and mine call me that. Did you know that? That means you are-)

“Check on Die’rich, please.” I slurred.

“He’s alright, Lys. Better than you are.” Harry assured me.

_were_

“Die’rich!” I called, worried again for no reason, “Are you ‘kay?”

“Yes, Lys. Come now, lean on Potter.”

(-me and mine.)

“We’ve got to move on, Lys,” Harry said gently, “Got to get Malfoy to Madam Pomfrey. Dietrich’s fine, he’s levitating Malfoy and everything. Let’s go on, alright?”

I nodded, making my vision blur and distort. “Right. On and on and on and on.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, here's chapter 17 for you all! Had to edit it, add some stuff, it might be a little choppy because of it. Hope it's an okay wrap-up, at least.
> 
> As always, thank you to my readers, subscribers, kudos-ers, bookmarkers, etc. I appreciate you all! :)

 

**…**

 

The next thing I _actually clearly_ remembered, was waking up and Harry grinning at me from his own bed.

Dumbledore was sitting in between our beds, a probably-Transfigured armchair supporting him, but with Fawkes on the shoulder of the seat. He — the professor, not the bird — glanced between the two of us with amusement. Eyes twinkling and all. 

“I seem to recall another situation earlier this year, similar to this.” he said pleasantly.

_Hm. Harry and I side-by-side in the Hospital Wing._

“Did Madam Pomfrey tell you how we wouldn’t shut up, then?” I asked with a grin.

Alby chuckled. “I seem to recall a verbal report detailing two patients causing disturbances in the middle of the night, one of which yelled, ‘Oh no, it’s the dragon-lady! Pretend you’re asleep!’ at one point or another.”

Me being a sassy little shit, I couldn’t find it in me to be embarrassed. Madam Pomfrey, sure, yelled at me a lot with how much I swung by — if it wasn’t my own injuries, it was Lu’s Quidditch or Harper’s clumsiness or something — but there was always a hint of (exasperated) fondness. I think what _really_ endeared me to her was that I started learning how to heal myself, though it was tough goings with my rather Dark core. She saw me as most professors saw the demon twins, I think: kind of a nuisance, very ridiculous, but fun company all the same.

“How is it,” I asked, arching a brow at my old friend and mentor, “that you _never_ sound sarcastic when you’re the sassiest old man I know, Alby?”

Harry spluttered. Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled.

“I’m afraid we can’t debate the nature of my humor, Lys, Harry.” he said finally, his eyes deflating back to their usual blue — no twinkles or sparkles, “I could not ask for the complete story the night you returned; both of you were heavily injured, and it was imperative you were treated as soon as possible. But I would like to inquire now, if I may.”

Harry nodded readily, but I frowned. “What did you tell the Bastions and the Malfoys?”

“The bare bones of it, my dear.” the Headmaster replied without missing a beat, “Harry, here, told us all about his investigation and discovery of the basilisk and the location of the Chamber of Secrets. Not much else, and certainly not what happened within the Chamber, due to the presence of the Malfoy’s, I believe. I explained that the Heir of Slytherin was in fact a young Lord Voldemort, Tom Riddle. After that, you two were brought to Madam Pomfrey for a well-deserved rest.”

I hmmm’ed to myself. Harry and I were the only occupants of the blank Hospital Wing beds, the three of us the only ones in the room at all. Which meant… “So the petrification victims got the Mandrake juice, then?”

“We are the only occupants of the infirmary, as Professor Lockhart has been transferred to St. Mungos, along with Draco Malfoy — nothing serious, fortunately.” he confirmed with a smile, “And, if it interests you to know, I awarded two hundred points to Slytherin, and four hundred to Gryffindor.”

The little bit of me that might’ve been _slightly_ worried for Malfoy eased with that. Good.

But onto other things. I raised a brow. “Dietrich didn’t get any points?”

The lot of bit of me that was _very_ worried for Dietrich rose up, but now didn’t seem to be the time. _Later,_ I promised myself, _he’s fine ‘cos Alby didn’t say anything so_ later _._

“No, _you_ have not received your points _yet,”_ said Alby pleasantly, “Which I shall rectify. Two hundred points to Slytherin, for an admirable rescue of your friend, Mr. Bastion. Like your brother and Mr. Potter, you will also be receiving a Special Award for Services to the School.”

My gut tightened. If I was correct, Tom had gotten that same reward when he’d turned Hagrid in... And Tom was dead. ( _Laughed a little — hysterically — and felt sick, he crumbled away like a broken bust-_ ) I watched him die, and now that the diary was well and finished, I knew that it wasn’t an enchantment that made me hurt when I thought of it. Tom, in fact, had _not_ wanted any of my darkest secrets or fears or soul. Maybe in the beginning, but… He had separated himself from me in some strange, misguided effort to protect me.

Ha. I’m such an idiot. I had, a small corner of my heart, sort-of liked Tom Riddle.

“I don’t deserve it,” I muttered, feeling sick again, “It was my fault. The entire thing.”

_We_ are _friends, Tom._

Albus Dumbledore only gave a gentle smile.

I glanced at Harry, who have an encouraging, if not puzzled, beam. It only made me feel worse. He didn’t understand he should’ve been blaming me for being stabbed by the most poisonous creature in the world. Fucking… so trusting, looking at me like I was chatting about Slytherin and magic, instead of admitting that I as good as planned out possession and murder. Shit.

“Malfoy and Dietrich almost died because of me.” I muttered.

“Lys…” Alby trailed off.

I shook my head. “It’s even _more_ my fault with Malfoy. He got entrenched into the diary so easily because he was _desperate._ He was lonely because all of Slytherin was turning from him, desperate because I was winning. Of _course_ he got bloody possessed.”

“Yet Mr. Malfoy tried to get rid of it just as quickly, my dear.”

I snorted. “He’s a pureblood. A _Dark_ pureblood. Of course he got suspicious when he couldn’t remember things and such.” I withered a little, glancing at Harry. “I’m sorry, Potter. You… Your arm… All that rubbish with Tom Riddle, it really is _my fault.”_

“I wondered...” Harry said softly, after I paused for too long, “Tom — Voldemort — said that you had the diary first. That he... that he failed with you, or something. That was true, then?”

Wringing my hands together, I nodded. “I found the diary in Ginny’s things. I knew it wasn’t what it seemed ‘cos of the- Oh, right, Harry, you’ve probably already realized by now that I’ve got Mage Sight.”

He nodded kindly. “You talked about colors a lot. Said I was a peacock.”

Dumbledore chuckled as I blushed; was I an _idiot_ when concussed? God. 

“You have colors reminiscent of those birds, yes,” confirmed Alby, “If I had any artistic talent, I could show you what shades. As it is, Lys is the better painter between us. I have always told her that she should pursue art.”

Years ago, when my tutelage was in full swing, Alby presented me an assortment of paints so that I could learn how to connect colors to people or magic or whatever else. Lots of watercolor sheets categorized messily, me trying to determine how to determine Dark and Light and Grey from rainbows. It was very kindergarten arts-and-craft-like, and we both loved it. (The man was a secret _child,_ I swear to Merlin.)

I rolled my eyes. “Not the point right now, Alby.”

“Indeed. You were saying about the diary...?”

“Yes. The diary... it had colors. Like it was alive, but sleeping. Black and sickly. When I wrote in it, its colors started to change. It woke up. Sienna red, almost, but even darker than that.” I said haltingly, feeling very self-conscious with both the Leader of Light and the Boy-Who-Lived watching me with keen, unreal-looking eyes behind their respective spectacles.

I took a deep breath. _Best get it over with, Lyssie. You told the same story to Dietrich now — who is okay, he’s fine, he is, you saved him, you did — didn’t you? Sure, it put him in danger, but he’s fine now and telling Harry and Alby now can only help._

“I guess… Well, since we didn’t quite graduate from the topic, I’m a Soothsayer. Type of Seer, as I said before.” I inclined my head to Harry, who looked curiously alert and attentive. “It’s a family secret. Only the immediate Weasley’s, the Heads of House, Madam Pomfrey, and Alby know this, alright, Harry? Keep it secret.”

“Perhaps Miss Granger and Mr. Bastion would benefit from knowing as well.”

“Perhaps I should announce it to the Daily Prophet.” I replied dryly.

“I won’t say a thing.” Harry promised, looking a little uncertain; I suppose the combination of a secret and the full blast of the usual banter between Dumbledore and I would do that to a person. If Mum _knew_ how I spoke with the Headmaster, she’d whup me.

I smiled at the kid. “I trust you.”

Harry nodded.

Dumbledore took it upon himself to explain further, “Those born with Mage Sight, as Lys was, are born with the ability to sense magic through another one of their senses naturally. Some acquire Mage Sight later — naturally and not — but normally do so through meditation and practice. I listen to magic, and Lys is one of the extraordinary few who has _two_ senses: sight and sound, is that correct, my dear?”

I nodded. “Your magic has a lovely voice, Harry. I’m pretty sure Alby did a _Dī-konden An-drixtā_ , though, since he knows how overwhelming his magic is, even when I tone down my Sight, or I’d otherwise be hearing it now.”

Harry looked vaguely flattered. “Oh. Er, thanks, Lys. What is that…?”

“ _Dī-konden An-drixtā_ is the Soothsayer Soothing spell. It’s to block out my Mage Sight. Currently, I’m hearing and seeing just like anyone else. One of the first spells I was taught to do wandlessly, since being in crowded places always makes me get a headache.”

“ _And_ you’ve got anaemia and asthma? Tough luck, Lys.” he said sympathetically.

I shrugged. “Seer-witches are magically powerful, more than most, but we’re physically delicate. It’s a balance, Harry.”

“Seer abilities often are,” Alby cut in, “Of course, due to the level of control one can exert over Mage Sight — especially in how sometimes it develops after birth, or one that learn it as you would any other skill with enough dedication and power — Soothsayers mostly faded into obscurity.”

Harry nodded. “Well, alright. Not so bad of a secret, I don’t think.”

Alby smiled. “And so it isn’t. But the Ministry’s Department of Mysteries is very interested in Seer abilities, and born Soothsayers are quite rare. The Weasley family would rather not be forced to register Lys as a natural-born Soothsayer and have her obligated to report to the Ministry twice a month, so secrecy is the preferred option. Now, then! Lys, you wanted to speak of the diary?”

With that, I took over. I told them much the same story as the one I’d given Dietrich, but with a bit more truthfulness to it. I’d dove right into gleaning information from Tom because I decided the risk was worth it (leaving out my interest in the Dark Arts, though). I told them about Malfoy stealing the diary from me and my frenzied search to get it back, ‘cos I knew how dangerous Tom was and though I was willing to brave the risks, I wouldn’t risk someone else — someone who didn’t have my Sight and didn’t know what Tom really was.

(“So we had the same diary?” Harry asked.

I blinked. “Well, yes. I told you about it a few times. Did you just not notice?”

“Er… I was a bit concentrated on how I was sucked into the diary to see Hogwarts seventy years ago, you know?”

A shrug. “Fair enough. Moving on!”)

I told them about Dietrich accusing me of obsession, about when I admitted to him that I needed help and why, and about how he began to help me look for the diary. The fear I’d felt when I saw Harry had it, my plan to track the diary back to the thief, hopefully to be able to get them out of Tom’s snare. I explained why my reaction to the news that Dietrich had been taken was so bad: ‘cos it was honestly on my head. My carelessness had put my friend in danger, I didn’t know the why or how, but it did. The confrontation in the Chamber was easy, with Harry helping me, and when I got to the end...

“Harry passed out, can’t say I know why,” I said, telling the truth but wording it to mislead them, “And I spoke to Tom as he disappeared. It was slow, I suppose because Malfoy wouldn’t be able to take back all his magic and life-force at once or he’d die of shock.”

I ended there, but gave Dumbledore a look that meant I’d be having words with him later, that there was more. I was going to have to explain this to Dietrich, too… (Where was he? I wanted to know if he was okay.) God, it would be a lot of talking.

Dumbledore nodded. He announced his departure, thanking both of us for the time and the words, and left. I sighed; that was over and done with. I’d still have to talk a lot. Oh, and then I was going to explain to Ginny, Luna, and the other three firsties... Dammit to Merlin, this was a lot. In any case, I gave a tired grin to Harry.

He, however, threw something at me. (His pillow. The idiot.) I dodged, and gave him an incredulous glare. “And what was that for, o mighty basilisk slayer?” I asked.

“It’s not your complete fault, Lys.” he explained with a grin, shrugging. “You keep saying it is, but you didn’t _mean_ for it to happen. Don’t, er, be so guilty about it. It’s not like you _wanted_ Malfoy and Bastion to get taken.”

I sighed, crossing my arms and leaning back on my two pillows. “Should’ve just turned it in. Wards and healing and whatever else, they weren’t worth that. Malfoy and Dietrich. Mostly Dietrich, but you know.”

My attempt at levity was duly ignored. Harry was quiet. “You were tricked. Just because you’re a Slytherin doesn’t mean you can’t be tricked. Kicking Malfoy’s arse or not.” We both grinned at that. He sighed. “Even _I_ liked Tom Riddle, and I only spoke to him for a little bit. I think, in the end, you sort of tricked him back. He wanted to possess you first, right? But then he-”

“Couldn’t.” I said. I ran my hands through my messy hair. “He couldn’t. When you… Ergh, I wasn’t going to tell you, but I should’ve kept Alby here since I am…” My heart hurt with grief. I remembered what grief was, when Pandora Lovegood died and bits of Luna and Xeno went with her. “While you were out, he said… He was dying, and he said he didn’t want to possess me, so that’s why he called out to Parkinson with his freaky evil telepathic power, or whatever it was.”

Harry blinked. Then he smiled a little, and it was a wistful thing. “You Slytherins, really. Pretending to be friends to use each other, and then accidentally becoming friends in the process.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, Lys.”

I frowned. “For what?”

“That you lost a friend.”

_Laughing as he went. Crimson blood and black ink and pale fingers and a single, blue eye._

I smiled to myself, quiet. “Slytherins. We’re an emotionally stunted bunch.”

“Is that why Malfoy’s such a git?” Harry was smiling, trying to cheer me up. Sweet boy, this one. Good on Ginny, the future Mrs. Potter… if it happened; I wasn’t sure, with my interference with the possession and whatnot. Maybe. 

“Of course. I’ll keep you updating on Slytherin’s politics next year, Harry. It’ll do you some good to hear the Git’s fall from grace. Probably next year, it’s not going to be a secret that we saved him, you know. Capitalize on that, hm?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Slytherins. You’re all so _weird._ ”

I mimicked him. “ _Gryffindors_. You’re all so judgmental.”

“Take that back, Lys!” He threw a chocolate frog at me, being out of pillows.

“Oh, thanks!” I laughed, catching it — so it didn’t hit my face, Harry had good aim — and opening the box. “Are you card collecting, Harry? I can’t believe it, but I’ve got another Merlin. I gave my last one to Harper as an early birthday present, him and Lu went rabid at each other for it. I think they almost started a bloodfeud between House Harper and House Vaisey, you know, like the Malfoys and the Weasleys.”

Harry snorted. “Like I said. You’re all weird.”

“I will bet you twenty Galleons that if I dangle this in front of Ron — who I know for a fact doesn’t have one — and Lu, they’ll get into either a fist-fight, or a Quidditch match to determine who gets it.”

My green-eyed friend brightened. “Twenty Galleons. I want to fly, too.”

“Thanks for the money, Potter.”

_Thanks, Harry._

“Any time, Lyssie.”

_You’re welcome._

 

**…**

 

“Lys.”

I turned my face sleepily. I frowned, too groggy to filter my thoughts. “Really? _Tempus…_ Midnight, Dietrich? _Really?”_

Dietrich raised an unimpressed eyebrow. The movement drew attention to a strip of gauze on his temple, which I zeroed in on even with the dark. Moonlight made it stark against him, even if he was pale as fuck.

“What is that? You’re hurt? What happened?” I fired away, bolting upright and flicking privacy wards all over the place. (It wouldn’t do to wake up Harry, who was sleeping behind the curtain there. The kid needed his damn sleep.)

Dietrich was kind enough to let me poke at his bandage, though he looked annoyed.

“What is the saying? _Glucke_ _._ Mother hen, I think.”

“That’s German, you fake-”

“ _Lys._ ”

I stopped fretting, looking up at Dietrich when his tone sharpened. I slowly drew my hands away, guilt flooding me just as completely as grief did earlier. Maybe this was why I was so _tired_ , with all these damn emotions all over the place. This was probably why I should practice my Occlumency more.

And my head was rambling.

And then Dietrich grimaced, which had me shrinking back, which had his eyes snapping up to me fiercely.

“Stop.” he commanded, “I was not- It is not your fault, Lys. I am not… angry. Or whatever you may think. I know you, how you are. You are thinking it is your fault that I was… taken, like that. But it is not.”

“How is it not?” I blurted out, eyes darting between Dietrich’s and the bandage above them.

Dietrich frowned. “I chose to be your Second, in all things. It is my pleasure to help you, Lys. That _ce putain de livre_ abducted and injured me, it was not your doing.”

There was a stubborn set to his face. He stood straight and proud. Every inch of my friend screamed that he wouldn’t be budged.

I curled my fingers into my blankets. “I’m sorry.”

Dietrich shook his head. “I know. It’s alright, Lys. That’s… all I wanted you to know. Before the leaving feast. I am sure you will have no time tomorrow to speak, so this is all I wanted to say.”

“I almost killed you.”

“The book almost killed me. You simply trusted me. _Pour moi, cela en vaut la peine.”_

I smiled lightly. He was going to leave but I still felt… horrible. About it all. Horrible and guilty and sorry. But there was no time for anything but this. “You’re doing the thing again. Making fun of me in French.”

“I must have some fun, Lys.”

“You’ll… we’ll write about this, right? We’ll actually speak properly about this?”

Dietrich raised a brow, turning to leave. “By this, you mean that I will repeat, many many times, that it is not your fault, until you believe me? I suppose. If you would simply know that I do not blame you and I expect this to change nothing, then it will be easier.”

“I almost _killed_ you.”

“Guinevere,” he sighed, “What is it you want to hear?”

I fumbled with my blankets. He’d just been about to leave, stupid, and then I’d forced him to stay back. What on earth was I doing? “Accusations? Saying you regret meeting me? Something like that, I suppose…”

Dietrich snorted. I frowned at him.

“Regret meeting you, Lys? I would sooner befriend _ce petit livre_ than say such a thing. So go to sleep and stop worrying, _oui?_ I knew you would come to help me. So you should know I do not hold the Chamber against you. Trust in me the way I trust you, Lys.”

I flushed a little. “That’s not- You can’t say stuff like that, Dietrich, you git!”

Dietrich shook his head again. “ _Cette fille sera ma mort._ Good night, Lys.”

He exited just as suddenly and silently as he’d arrived, and I tore down my wards, frowning. The guilt was still there, nestled in right next to the grief, but when I curled up to sleep, I felt just a little bit better.

_He doesn’t care._

_He should._

_If the roles were reversed, you wouldn’t care._

_But the roles_ aren’t _reversed._

_It’s the ‘if’ that makes trust. Trust your friends, Lyssie._

I closed my eyes. Trust was hard. Maybe it’d be easier when I had those letters.

 

**…**

 

Good bloody Merlin, the _feast._

With only the vaguest rememberings of the second book, and my visions apparently giving me respite with just nice, pleasant images of the Golden Age of Rome, Byzantium, and imperial Han China, I didn’t See it coming at all.

It was crazy.

It was a fucking magical rave.

Everyone was in their pajamas, the food didn’t stop coming, people were crowding around everywhere (focused in my spot in Slytherin and Harry’s place in Gryffindor, I think), and the Gryffindor banners hung merrily on the walls. Bloody Albus, he’d quietly given Hermione points for being the first to figure it out, and when I argued that I’d literally known what the monster was the entire time, he told me that Seeing didn’t count and, besides, we agreed that what you didn’t say aloud, you technically didn’t See.

But even the loss of the House Cup didn’t faze me, ‘cos it was a spectacular party.

I grinned into my pumpkin juice as I watched.

Malfoy’s group — sans Malfoy, who was still in St. Mungo’s, unharmed but recovering from severe magical exhaustion — had released a tension I hadn’t even noticed they’d been holding the last few months; Pansy Parkinson linked elbows with Tracy Davis, and Crabbe and Goyle trailed after the two substitute leaders brainlessly, Blaise Zabini was peripherally there-not-there; but they were _all_ much more relaxed and relatively pleasant in their interactions with other Slytherins and the occasional pureblood ‘Claw. 

At one point, Zabini and I locked eyes — a sea of people between us. He gazed contemplatively at me (Davis and Parkinson could flaunt all they wanted, but I knew who the true Second of Malfoy was). Then, cautiously, he nodded an elegant tilt of the chin to me. I smiled tentatively and returned the gesture.

_New beginnings_ , was the message in any case. I would power — nothing could erase that, not after this — and so Malfoy and Zabini would challenge me and Dietrich next year. My replying nod made his lips curl into a smile that was not unpleasant — pleasant, really, seeing as Blaise Zabini was quite a pretty boy — and we did not see each other again.

His cousin, on the other hand, seemed more than tipsy from smuggled Firewhiskey, and she’d bodily picked me up in a hug and started babbling about how worried she’d been for ‘her favorite firstie’ and how I shouldn’t do it again, and then proceeded to snarl at anyone who tried to come up to me to talk because ‘Guinevere is _my_ firstie! No more snakes are allowed to give her concussions!’

It appeared that Dietrich or Harry or Ron or _all of them_ had told the other first years about my antics under a concussion, because people kept mentioning it. I was a bit annoyed at first, but by the thirtieth reference to my bloody loopiness, I just laughed along — I did sound rather silly, the way Harper acted it out.

Lu and Jay had done the nice thing and slipped through the crowd around me (begging for details, in their own Slytherin fashion *COUGH demanding information COUGH*) and grabbed Luna from the ‘Claw table... apparently they’d had to snark at some little ravens to piss off to do so, but now I had my best female friend with me and she was surrounded by people who would respect her, if only for her connection to one of the powerhouses of Slytherin.

When Daphne Greengrass’ tea kept exploding in her face, the four of us looked at Harper (“She punched Jay in the nose!” “I don’t mind anymore, Harper, it was a long time ago-” “ _She punched Jay in the nose!!!”_ “Shut UP, Harper!”)

There were only two quieter notes in the night. One was when I managed to slip away and speak to the Bloody Baron.

“So you triumphed over the Heir of Slytherin, young Seer.” he said.

I laughed a little. “I was just along for the side — Harry’s the one who did all the work.”

“ _Scopoccuo,_ ” he whispered deviously.

“Wh- You were watching? In the _Chamber of Secrets?”_

“There are stranger places to have eyes, young Slytherin.”

_Ghosts gossip,_ I reminded myself. My eyes narrowed. “...Myrtle followed us.”

“Oh, yes. But it was I who ran across her first, was told the full story.” the Baron said quietly, eyes flashing with something akin to hunger, “She will not be repeating the tale to any other, living or dead, young reincarnation.”

“And why,” I asked delicately, glancing at the silly antics of Sir Nicholas at the Gryffindor table (he was happy he was back), “would Moaning Myrtle agree to silence? I’m sure she heard interesting things... “ My eyes flashed. _Exorcizamius_ , whispered in my mind. The end of a ghost. “Dangerous things.”

The Bloody Baron nodded, his silver chains clattering. “Very. But the girl has never been interested in anything outside of her own misery.”

“The ghosts gossip. She will talk.” _And I will exorcise every single one of you if I must. That is information that I will kill to protect. I gave it only to a soul fading out of existence._

“She will not risk my anger when she has other pursuits. She will stay her tongue.”

“And you?”

“I?” The Bloody Baron leaned close, his eyes _feral._ “ _I_ am interested in what you will do. A reincarnation, a Seer, a girl who unknowingly managed to seduce a Dark Lord. Idle gossip has never intrigued me. No, _Guinevere Weasley,_ you will entertain me enough to fill the _century_.”

With a promise that sounded more like a threat, the Bloody Baron floated off.

Geez, the guy had problems.

I trusted that the Baron could frighten Myrtle into submission. And honestly, the ghost-girl was an idiot. Self-absorbed, self-pitying... she would forget over the summer, and it would only interest her if someone asked. Who would ask her whether I was a reincarnation or not? No, I wasn’t worried about the girl.

The Bloody Baron, though... I didn’t think he’d tell, but what the _hell_ did he expect of me?

_Seduce a Dark Lord? ERGH._

I mean... Nope. I wasn’t even going to think about it. I refused. It was weird and despite being weird, it still hurt. Tom had been my friend, and I couldn’t even feel betrayed about the Imperius thing because I honestly knew what I’d been getting into. I knew the fucker was a Dark Lord, but I’d had fun with him anyway.

Stupid.

But that was just the _first_ quiet note. 

After Harper found me ‘moping’ (“I wasn’t moping! Shut up, Harper!” “You need to have fun, Lyssie — it’s practically your party anyways!” “Since when do you call me that, you little git?!” “Since you gave me _Merlin!”_ “Ergh, FINE you little brat!” “You’re younger than me, Lys!”), I’d been dragged off to watch an impromptu poker game between Prefect Zabini, Marcus Flint, Fred and George (of course), and a competitive Oliver Wood who was only playing so he could keep his rivalry with Flint alive and probably didn’t even know how to play poker anyways. It was a frightening match up, with the twins breaking the rules and working together — showing each other their cards and everything — and there was quite a crowd.

I will admit, I cheated.

My visions had been surprisingly docile after I’d gotten out of the Hospital Wing, and they bent to my will when I looked ahead — maybe my magic was trying to make it up to me or something? — and I managed to look ahead. It was flighty clips of scenes as usual, but I pieced it together soon enough, and. Well. Dietrich made arrangements on my grinning advice, since Fred and George would fold if they knew I was betting. Maybe I only Saw ahead because it was such a trivial issue, such a tiny bit of fun, it pitied me enough for this. Whatever the case, Dietrich lent me some money that I promised to pay back.

(I promised to pay a lot of things back, for him.)

Anyways, we made a startling amount of Galleons from that venture — Oliver Wood won, and we didn’t think he had a clue what he was doing but happily congratulated him anyways — and the party only got better from there.

Amazing, really, that it lasted throughout the night.

It was actually wrapping up already when the second point of quiet occurred, and I found myself sitting next to my twin sister.

“Hello, Ginny.” I said softly.

“Hi, Lys.” she replied in the same tone. Her voice wasn’t as low as mine, though.

“So... if you tell me you’re still mad about the Sorting, I think I’ll have to strangle you.” I said cheerfully.

Ginny laughed, pushing my shoulder. “You know perfectly well that I’m not mad about it anymore. I was only really upset for a little while. After that, I was just confused and trying to... well, find my feet I guess.”

“Did you find them, then?”

She beamed at me. “Yes. And, honestly, I can see now that if we’d been Sorted into Gryffindor together, it would’ve been harder later. Even then, when you weren’t talking to me, I know you were looking out for me.”

I rolled my eyes. “Who gave it away? Was it Ron? The prat.”

“No, actually it was Percy.” she giggled, shaking her head. “He’s been mothering me so much, I had to sic Fred and George on him to get him to quit it. He mentioned that you asked about me in your letters- Why’ve you started writing him again, anyways? We’re all in the same school.”

“I barely talk to you Gryffindor Weasley’s, that’s why-”

“As if there’s any other type of Weasley.”

“Pardon me, but I’m rather sure I’ve got an identical surname.”

Ginny gave me a mischievous grin. “Any type of _proper_ Weasley, I mean. Obviously you were dropped on your head when we were little or something. And then you had to infect Ron, too — saving a Malfoy, sis? Tut, tut...”

We laughed and I felt warm inside knowing that I’d gotten my twin back for real. She had comforted me when I’d learned that Dietrich had been taken down to the Chamber, but this was concrete.

It was on the train that I’d excused myself from the cabin I’d followed my sister into (it was her, me, Morag MacDougal, Luna, Nicola Labelle, Sarah Ainsworth, and a few more of our female year-mates that Ginny was friends with); I’d poked around looking for my firsties, running into Prefect Zabini’s (who gave me a fond hug when I’d left her compartment) and Marcus Flint’s (he gave me a grunt and a nod) cabins before I stumbled across them.

Dietrich was reading in the window seat, Jay across from him and chatting softly, as he drew. Lu and Harper were being loud and probably purposefully obnoxious, trying to get Dietrich and Jay to play Exploding Snap with them. They all looked up and grinned when I entered, and I had to grin back.

“Oi! Lyssie! You said you had important things to tell us!” Harper crowed.

“Yeah, what’s with you and Dietrich being all _secretive_ lately?”

“Was that a joke? Merlin, Lu, don’t ever make a joke ever again. Ever.”

“Shut up, Harper.”

Jay beamed and scooted over to make room for me. I sat, feeling very loved with my friends all waiting for me to speak and arguing about why I couldn’t sit next to Harper and Lu instead... Bloody kids. They were annoying little scamps that needed constant watch and tutoring (Harper especially) but I’d given them permission to use ‘Lys’ — Harper, of course, didn’t need the permission — so they counted in the ‘me and mine’ category, and I loved them.

“Are you and Dietrich together now, then?” Jay asked, effectively silencing the entire cabin.

For a second.

Dietrich choked on nothing and hid his face behind his book, Harper and Lu burst out laughing at him; Jay smiled at me with excitement in his eyes despite the fact that I’d jerked my hands and pulled his hair (I was braiding it again). Dietrich and I were frozen, twitching at Lu and Harper rolling around in their seats with hysterical laughter. 

I tugged on Jay’s hair, hard. He yelped.

“We. Are. _Eleven._ ” I snarled (“Well, technically, most of us are twelve.” “Shut up, Harper!”), giving a sharp tug with every word, “We are _too young_ to be thinking of that dating nonsense, you _hopeless romantic.”_

Jay gave a small glare. “How d’you know it’s stupid if you’ve never tried?”

_Oh, believe me, children I’ve played the dating game. It sucks ASS._

But rather than say that, I rolled my eyes. “You’re not the ones who witness the hysterics of the girls when they’re in their dorms. _Oh, no, Janet, my hair looks like it’s a mess! What will so-and-so think?_ _Oh, Janet, you look fine — it’s me we should be worrying about, Cedric Diggory sits right next to me, oh, my nails aren’t_ ** _painted!_** Utter rubbish. They cry all the time, too. Over being ignored.”

“You certainly cried when Dietrich was-”

“THAT’S A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT STORY AND YOU KNOW IT, HARPER!”

“Shut up, Harper.” Dietrich finally managed, lowering his book enough to glare.

Lu did us all a favor and smacked Harper, then looked at me curiously. “If you’re not announcing that you fancy Dietrich-” (“ _Merlin’s sake, Vaisey!”)_ “-then what did you want to tell us?”

Dietrich and I shared a glance. We had gone over the story already. Dietrich had gotten to me before we’d finished loading the trunks to be put on the train by the House Elves. I hadn’t noticed it last night, but he looked ragged and exhausted. I did, too, and I think it comforted him that… that he wasn’t the only one where it was sinking in. The only one with trembling hands and limbs like lead that couldn’t move, unable to be distracted by anything, fear concentrated into his head.

Grief had washed some of the residual fear away, grief and confusion and whatnot, but Dietrich didn’t have that. And it helped him, I think, to plot and plan when he was still trying to reconcile the fact that he’d almost…

_I did this to him, I did, I should just leave him alone so he can be happy and safe and-_

_Shush. Trust, remember?_

(Was this going to be a daily thing? A continuous battle? Guilt and grief and residual fear hurt, they did. I had to calm down. Summer couldn’t come soon enough.)

Well. In any case, we knew what we were going to say. Mage Sight wasn’t even that rare, really, not when one could learn it. Dietrich knew about that already; I’m rather sure he figured it out earlier, before I’d even told him. Besides. I think my boys would be more interested in the fact that I was almost possessed and Dietrich was almost killed, really.

I smirked, rather looking forward to their reactions. Because, you know, I was still a Slytherin that enjoyed messing with people. Mean little git, I was. 

“Swear to secrecy, firsties. This’ll blow your minds.” 

 

**…**

 

_“So, what was it that you wanted to speak to me privately about, Lys?”_

_The girl shuffled on her feet. Fawkes gave a reassuring trill — she smiled — small and pale with a messy auburn mop of hair on her head. But she stood straight, even though she played with the frayed ends of her robe sleeves — green-silver tie was neatly done and proudly borne._

_“Sit, Lys.” Albus Dumbledore said, gesturing to a cushy, purple couch._

_Stop._

_Images of the Chamber flashed by... grey stone, red blood, white fang, black robes — Tom Riddle smiling as he faded away — Malfoy and Dietrich’s limp bodies on the stone — Harry bitten by the basilisk — Fawkes catching the diary — ink running across the floor, mixing with the blood — the dark crimson colors that struggled — the tiniest bit of indigo that was the last to fade._

_Stop._

_“I didn’t want Harry to know. I thought it was private. Told him anyways, of course…” — smile, sad but crookedly true — “But I wanted to ask you something and I have to tell you what really happened when Harry passed out for you to understand. I think. It’s all very muddled, Alby, especially since I had a concussion during the entire exchange.”_

_“Go on, then, Lys. I am always here to listen and offer advice.”_

_She swallowed, nodding — lost her nerve — My chest hurts and I feel sick — glanced at the bookshelf — Penseive behind it, hidden — Dumbledore nodded understandingly, conjuring a small glass vial for her. My wand to my temple — thin, silvery strands of memory. — now-full vial to Dumbledore, — didn’t want to see it again._

_Stop._

It still hurt. My friend had died, and I hadn’t really realized he was my friend until he was already dying. It was confusing as all hell, too, because I don’t think Tom realized it either.

What does one do, when someone who loves you dies?

_When Dumbledore returned, his gaze was filled with newfound understanding and a tinge of sympathy, but mostly sadness. — “If you had been born in 1926, my dear, we would not have a Lord Voldemort.” — quietly, sadly, ancient and tired — “Never have I seen Tom truly smile before you gave me your memory.”_

_Returned the strands — back in her head, not wanting this to get out. Then Dumbledore banished the vial and they sat in abject silence for a moment, mourning together over a strange death._

_“I have told Harry that what saved him from the Killing Curse was love.” sighed the old mentor tiredly, “That because Voldemort could not feel such an emotion, could not understand it, he was ultimately defeated by it... And yet, here you bring me proof that when I deemed him beyond reach, Tom Riddle had just been waiting to be saved after all.”_

_Stop._

_You are ridiculous._

_Red, flashing in his colors — shaking like shoulders laughing, withheld, hands covering mouths, bright eyes and — She smiled at the book, tilting her head to the side, strands of crimson messy against her combing fingers._

_You’re the ridiculous one. Why wouldn’t I be pleased about Julius joining me?_

_You should be more cautious. You especially would not take betrayal well._

_Is it betrayal if I’m expecting it?_

~~ _I    a m going to_ ~~ __~~_n   o it’s     no_ ~~ __ ~~ _Gui    neve re you_ ~~ ___You do not expect it._

_I think you’re getting old, with all these bloody ink splatters, Tom. I do too expect it. Also, especially me?_

_Silly, sentimental Slytherin. If those you’ve gathered betrayed you, what will you do?_

_I dunno. Cry._

~~_Please don’t_~~ ~~ _You sho    uldn’t  cr_~~       ~~ _Not y_~~ ~~ _Nev   er_ _no_~~ _Ah. Are you teasing me, Guinevere?_

_Of course. I wouldn’t cry, honestly. And yes, I’m teasing you. Friends, remember?_

_Would you cease being friends, if you were betrayed by…_ _~~m e~~       _ _your_ _Second, for example?_

_Hm… What sort of betrayal?_

_Is betrayal not simply that?_

_There are different sorts, I think. As many as there are lies and secrets._

_So it depends on the circumstances?_

_Nice and vague, isn’t it? Perfect for a Slytherin to exploit._

_~~wou    ld you ha  te me if I~~_ __~~_what woul   d you   do if I were to_~~ ~~ _it’s    t  o_~~ __~~_be cause I do   n’t want to_~~ ~~ _Guine   vere yo u_~~ __~~_it’s be  cau_~~ __~~_What if t    he circ  umst   ances w_~~        _A safe answer, I suppose, Guinevere._

_A ridiculous answer?_

_Of course. It’s a flaw of yours._

_Oh, shut up, Tom._

_Stop._

_“I’m sorry.” — “No, it is_ I _who am sorry. Too long the world has suffered by my failures.” — “I’m beginning to understand that feeling.” — “...You grieve for your friend. That does not make you a bad person, Lys. In fact, it makes you a rather_ good _person, for having seen past Tom’s arrogance and jadedness and finding something redeemable underneath a mask of cruelty.”_

_“A mask that eventually became his face,” — diary on Dumbledore’s desk — “Sorry, Alby. I don’t mean to bring up bad memories. I just wanted to know if you agreed with me.”_

_“Agreed with you, my dear?”_

_“That Voldemort was feared and hated, but above all, he should’ve been pitied. And that Tom Riddle was admired and fawned over, but he should’ve been loved… Am I wrong?” — “No.” — Dumbledore breathed, his eyes closing — “No, I quite agree. And once again, I am impressed by you, Lys.”_

_A smirk — “Like many others, Alby. Get in line.” — He chuckled — “You are astute and mature for your age, and though you’ve suffered greatly for it — and still suffer — you still possess an open heart and mind. Not many would gaze at a wand pointed at them and pity the wielder.”_

_She looked — “Bloody hell, Alby, I can’t believe you’re still single if you can pull that kind of bollocks on girls with a straight face.” — Dumbledore laughed — a crooked grin, bouncing back from the embarrassment right away — She’d gotten up and was halfway across his office-_

_Stop._

_“Do you think he was telling the truth, Alby? Out of curiosity?”_

_The Headmaster’s eyes didn’t twinkle — smiled very, very gently. “I think that the proof is in the magic.”_

_Stop._

_Deep red magic curling protectively around just one drop of indigo — thrashed as it was pulled to pieces but didn’t move, except for trying to hide the spot of foreign, cherished color in its velvety folds. —vague impression of a boy who looked a lot like Tom — dark hair blue eyes pale and thin and — curling into himself, protecting a small garden snake in his arms — others kicked at his thin ribs... Inevitably, neither venture succeeded. The snake had been buried long ago, and the touch of indigo that he guarded jealously shattered into nothing._

_Blackening edges of indigo were tinged with a scarlet that folded like velvet. She walked surrounded by indigo fog — curling around protectively — edges shone with his colors, pulsing like a heartbeat — My heart hurts, I feel sick._

_Stop._

“Lys?”

I opened my eyes and blinked at Dietrich. Everyone was staring at me, and I scowled.

“What?” I asked, self-conscious.

“Are you all right?” Dietrich asked slowly.

“Why wouldn’t I be okay? It’s just a nap on the train.”

Harper was frowning. “You’re crying.”

I blinked again, then patted at my cheeks. There were definitely cool tears there, yup. “Oh. Huh. Weird. It wasn’t that bad of a dream, to be honest. Forget it, I said I’d teach you idiots how to play poker — Lu, get out your cards, yeah?”

“Erm. Alright, Lys.”

“Good idea, Lyssie, I’ve been wanting to learn since the feast!”

I shuffled the deck expertly — something I was extremely proud of but no one seemed to understand what a feat it was, which was slightly disappointing — and taught the four how the Muggle card game worked. All the while, I was comforted by the presence of that deep carmine tinting my colors.

A reminder, I suppose.

_...entertainment enough to fill a century,_ the Bloody Baron had whispered.

Hm. The century? It’d be awfully premature for me to say we were done, then.

Five more books to go, Lyssie.

 

 

 

**END OF ARC TWO ::** **THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS**

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! Long Author's Note here. 
> 
> Straight off the bat, this is the third arc, there is an actual FUCK TON of world-building in this arc. I don't know where it came from, but it wanted to be written, so there. But there's also a lot of really fun shit later, so: Welcome to the Third Arc, and I hope you enjoy! :)
> 
> Also, you guys are actually the fucking best. Like. Seriously, I got the nicest damn reviews for 16/17, one of which almost had me crying in happiness, and many of which made my days. XD So, thank you all for commenting and reading! I'm super glad you liked the second arc!
> 
> Also, I fucked up the timeline here beyond redemption, and only noticed when I wrote most of the arc and went back to check. So… Just pretend that the Weasleys went to Egypt earlier and shit. Oh, and Sirius Black escapes earlier, too. Shhhh.
> 
> Um, what else... Oh! I update every Tuesday when I can, just so y'all know. Every Tuesday, and usually in the afternoon/evening because I work and have school, so yeah. That's a thing.
> 
> Anyways. The show must go on, sorry about the long A/N, and here we go!

 

 

**…**

 

As I heard Ron bellowing into the telephone booth — from outside — I realized (again) what a bloody idiot he was and immediately slammed the glass door open, startling my brother, and snatched up the receiver from him just in time to hear Vernon Dursley’s dulcet tones:

“WHO IS THIS? WHO ARE YOU?”

_I can’t believe I let_ Ron _of all people use a telephone without supervision. What was I thinking?_

Wincing at the volume, I put on the most pleasant and meek voice my Slytherin persona could muster up.

“Hello? Is this Mr. Dursley? I’m terribly sorry about that, earlier. There was a bit of a mix up — I suppose my brother was just a bit excited to speak with you.” I said, nearly snorting as Ron’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates and he mimed gagging.

(I didn’t like how fake I sounded. Irritated the shit out of me. I’m surprised Ron’s ears weren't bleeding, at the very least.)

“What? Who are you? What do you want?”

“It’s just, we’ve heard a lot about you from, er, Harry. Only good things, like how you’ve, er, climbed the ranks of…” The fuck was the company name? Grimbles? Wait no- “… _Grunnings_ so quickly and all that — we on our side wouldn’t know anything about that, you see.” Ron seemed to either be dry-heaving or laughing his arse off silently, ‘cos he’d sunk to his knees and was keeled over, trembling. I struggled to not do the same. “My name is Guinevere Weasley. Would you be so kind as to put Harry on?”

“Weasley- You’re one of _them_ , then, are you?”

Fuck. That was disgust, wasn’t it? Buttering up wasn’t working. It was like I started in the negative numbers for just being a witch; little points wouldn’t make a difference right now. Shall I fall back on my specialty?

Veiled — or unveiled, really — threats.

“A school-friend of Harry’s.” I answered pleasantly, “Is he not available? I have plenty of siblings, Mr. Dursley, I can have someone call back every hour or so to see if Harry’ll talk then. I’ve heard you actually met some of then last year, when they went to pick your nephew up in the family car — if you’d rather not waste the telephone bill, we could always do that again...”

Within seconds Harry was put on the phone and I handed the receiver back to Ron (who’d apparently been overcome with horror and amusement at my Slytherin-ness) with a smug grin on my face. He gave me a disgusted look.

“You are _such_ a Slytherin. It’s disturbing.” he muttered.

I stepped out of the booth, rolling my eyes. “Talk normally, you dolt. I’m going to look around. Tell me if you need more Muggle coins.”

“Yeah, that was Lys, she just magicked the bollocks out of your uncle.” Ron said into the speaker suddenly, then he nodded to me. “Thanks, Lyssie. Don’t go too far, yeah? And keep your wand on you! Anyone looks at you funny, Statute or not, you hex ‘em!”

“Yes, yes!” I said, then mumbling to myself, “You fight a basilisk _once,_ and all of a sudden you can’t look after yourself...”

It was nice, the first few days of summer, having _absolutely nothing to do._ Because of the whole ‘Guinevere went into the Chamber of Secrets and dueled Tom Riddle’ thing (an over-exaggeration of the highest proportions, Tom kicked my ass and then confessed to me while I was concussed, pretty much), Mum let me laze around for a bit after a lecture about endangering myself. Dad had quietly pulled me aside — I’d felt really bad, about how panicked he was, how pale he’d been when I first came home — and had asked if I’d known, and when I did in fact confirm that my Sight had told me it would happen, asked me _why_ I’d let it happen, why I hadn’t turned in the diary immediately.

_“I changed things a little, but in the end, it was important that it happen.” I answered._

_“Important? How?”_

_I gave one of those I’m-Seeing-things-you’re-not smiles. “When the war comes, Dad. It’s important for when the war comes.”_

War.

Speaking of war, it was 1993 and that meant things were about to get serious. 

Hah. _Serious._ Like... like Sirius Black.

I’m so glad I will never, _ever_ say that aloud. The grief I’d get for such a shitty joke, it would ruin my entire reputation. This is why I never let myself get bored, I either start convulsing with visions or my mind goes to dangerous places.

After those first few days of lying around and doing nothing but goofing off, I began to study again. Last summer had been filled with meditation in preparation for a new, magic-saturated environment and relaxing before the real deal, you’re-a-witch-now-Lys stuff started. Then it had been me writing to Tom all the time, trying to trick him out of his vast amounts of knowledge (I could _ward_ now, had a beginner’s introduction to Ancient Runes, and knew enough Healing spells and paraphernalia that I could function as an emergency battle-healer if need be). Now, however... well, _this summer_ I concentrated on the Dark, and just a bit on my spell repertoire.

A lot of that came from when Dad won the _Daily Prophet_ _Draw_. Seven hundred Galleons, most of which we used to go to Egypt and visit Bill. Visiting Bill — seeing Bill again after years — was fantastic, and like the good little Slytherin I was, I made sure to grill him on the basics of cursebreaking and got a list of some nasty things I’d love to look up later...

_“Your colors changed a little.” I told him on our last night in Egypt._

_Bill, his hair long and tied back and a new fang-earring on his ear, raised a brow._

_“It’s not that light blue anymore, it’s a bit greyer now, more electric.” I explained, looking at his calming magical presence with interest, “And rather than just purple edges, you’ve got faint mauve rings all around. There’s violet streaks in them.”_

_Bill had laughed, ruffling my hair. “You change when you’re thrown into new places, Lyssie. I bet you’re a bit different after Hogwarts, now, aren’t you?”_

_I nodded. Persian indigo, blackening at the edges; every beat of my heart, those black furls would pulse with a deep crimson. And always, the silver threads — much like Penseive memories — floating through the depths and sometimes shining gold when I looked for too long. It was the deep red, though, that I liked to look at..._

Anyways.

Unable to actually do wandwork — stupid underage thingie — I trained my wandless magic until I was sick of it and would get up to do things just to remind myself that I could. I read through my brothers’ old books and notes, searching for anything interesting — invented spells, secrets, the like. 

For Harry’s July birthday, I’d put together a small handbook for wandless magic training, as he had expressed interest in it a year prior; it wasn’t a real book, but I’d bound the parchment with magic-reinforced twine and spent quite a bit of time making sure my handwriting was perfect and diagrams were clean. (I’d gotten Percy to write a bit of it, actually, with his bloody perfect handwriting)

Faced with nothing more to do (in my house arrest masquerading as protection) — besides stay up late reading about the Dark and dangerous — I spent every other afternoon with Luna at our favorite spot at the brook, helped my mother with the house, chatted with Percy about his apparently (?) fading relationship with Penelope, helped Ginny with her homework (I fuckin’ finished _that shit_ first week of summer, I wasn’t having any of it around in Egypt), wrote letters to my boys, and attempted to play Quidditch with Ron and the twins — I was now only 90% hopeless, apparently, as opposed to the 99% I’d been at last year.

And when Sirius Black’s escape was plastered over the Daily Prophet, and it coincided with Scabber’s sudden illness, I took a bit of interesting in trapping and pest-control spells that Mum had a book of under the kitchen sink.

And I watched the little shit, of course.

Closely.

This was the year I’d finally be rid of the fucker, after all. Best make sure he didn’t do anything funny beforehand.

 

**…**

 

“LYS!”

I jolted. I’d been talking to the attic ghoul (it was a one-sided affair, but sometimes I’d get bored!), and nearly smashed my head against a low-hanging beam. I scrambled down the ladder, screaming back, “YES, MUM?”

“BREAKFAST!”

“ALRIGHT, MUM!”

I kicked at Ron when I clambered down, who had _somehow_ not woken up at the exchange; he shot up at the mention of food, though his morning sentiments were dotted with yawns and he didn’t quite seem to know where he was going. I dragged him downstairs by the sleeve, where Mum had cooked our usual hearty feast, and all the Weasley’s sat and chattered sleepily; Dad was reading the paper — apparently the Ministry made arrangements with their Muggle counterpart to depict Sirius Black as a dangerous, armed criminal.

“Don’t read over your father’s shoulder, Lys, dear.”

“Oh. Sorry, Mum. Ron, can you- Ron, you _pig_ , pass the butter!”

“Sh’ uh’, ‘Ishy.”

“Ron, don’t speak with your mouth full. Lyssie, don’t call your brother a pig.” Mum sighed.

“Yeah, Lyssie, you can do much better-”

“-as the only Slytherin at the table. Go on-”

“-insult Ron like he were Malfoy!”

“Shut up, demon twins.” Ron muttered, swallowing his pancakes.

I rolled my eyes. Well, since I was here… “Because the demon twins will stop if you ask them to. Oh! Maybe this is why you and Malfoy get on like a house on fire, because you actually expect the ponce to stop being a ponce when you ask him to.”

Fred and George snickered.

“There’s our little Slytherin!”

“Bit weak, though, for being a leader-”

“-of the snakes. Going easy on Ronniekins, then?”

Dad looked up from his paper in interest. “Leader of the snakes?”

My face felt a bit warm. I scowled at Fred and George, who seemed to have expected our parents to know about my insane political struggles... I suppose with the hype of the Chamber of Secrets, I _may have_ conveniently forgotten to mention it to Mum and Dad... I mean, it’s probably not something you want your children doing, right? The Slytherin thing. Mum and Dad probably wouldn’t like it... And really, no one understood Slytherin politics besides Slytherins, and the bloody demon twins for whatever reason.

They grinned at Dad’s question.

“Lyssie!” George said, putting a hand over his chest.

“You’ve been keeping _secrets?”_ Fred asked, mimicking his twin.

I narrowed my eyes at them. Gits. “It’s not important, Dad.” I said, just an edge of warning in my voice, “Just a silly school thing.”

Warning received and promptly ignored. Of course.

“What?“

“A silly _school thing?_ Why, Lyssiekins-”

“-how could you say that? After fighting for the _parvus potesta_ with baby Malfoy-”

“-and everything!”

Dad looked at me in alarmed confusion. “You fought with the Malfoy boy?”

Ergh. After that, I was forced to explain to my parents that Slytherin worked very, _very_ differently than Gryffindor. It was actually probably more vicious in their time, though, before Voldemort was _too_ big of a thing — before the Death Eater’s children (Malfoy) thought they owned the place because they were oh so big and bad.

Fred and George certainly helped in my explanations, proving themselves far too knowledgable in private House matters — how, _how_ did they know about the _potestas?_ Those were House secrets! — and I’d had to crush Ron’s foot under mine to prevent him from talking about my duel with Parkinson. Ginny, however, picked up on it and after the table was cleared, dragged me off to our room so I could tell her in more perfect detail about how I destroyed Pansy Parkinson. The gleam in my sister’s eyes as I spoke made me think that I’d have a very willing dueling partner in a few years.

And the days passed like so.

Peaceful, I suppose.

If I remembered my books correctly, this year would be very much the same as the summer for me. There was no need for me to interfere with the adventures of the Golden Trio until the very end — I’d rather Ron’s leg _not_ get broken, but maybe I’d leave it alone... it all turns out well, after all. It was _after_ this one that I might try to dabble in things — last year had taught me to be even _more_ cautious, with what happened.

(The red in my colors glinted, as if agreeing; I wondered if our magic was more sentient that I’d been taught to think of it as)

Then again… if I wasn’t really going to die, and I could interfere positively… that’d be a good thing. Petter fucking Pettigrew had a lot to answer to, perving on my brothers all these years. Plus I had to _actually_ take the _parvus potesta_ , since I wasn’t sure if Malfoy would treat us all nicely if I didn’t. On top of that, they were going to let me out to Diagon Alley, soon. With Percy as escort.

As soon as I knew Percy was — once again — my designated Diagon Alley escort this year, I Saw.

_Hand holding hand — small and weak and the other large and calloused — the little girl with dark crimson hair — the crowded, crooked bookshop and darted towards the historical section immediately. Hours. Hours. Hours and hours of poring over books — watched like a hawk, skimming his own book._

_Again. Hours — hours — the bookshop — crowded and hot — robes of many colors blurring the background like globs of Impressionist paint._

_Again. She didn’t look up from her books, only ducking her small head in one after another. They grew in number — the stack beside her — towering over her — threatening to fall._

_Again._

_Again._

_And finally the escort — tall and gangly and bored — left her alone. He walked out to the Quidditch shop — it would be the same. As he left, her eyes — icy blue — flickered up, and behind the leathery pages she pulled off a devious smirk. It would not be the same._

_Stop._

Ah. So it was time, then. Helvynya Prevett and the Dark Arts were finally entering my sphere of interest again.

(Peaceful. Hah. I didn’t have time for stuff like that.)

 

**…**

 

Welp. No time like the present.

I gathered my things — told Percy I was just going to go read while he met up with Oliver Wood and Nicholas Rowle again — and slipped into the crowd, quietly making my way closer to Knockturn Alley. Not quite there yet, I sent wandless _Reducio’_ s at all of the bags I had and stuffed them into my pockets. Red hair was a bit too flashy for my taste, so I pulled back as much as I could — that was the trouble with shorter hair, wasn’t it? — and tied it together. One of the sets of robes I’d gotten from the secondhand shop last year had a hood, which wasn’t Hogwarts required, but did an excellent job of casting shadows over my more identifiable features.

_Mum would bloody kill me. Percy would have a heart attack. Oh Merlin, and Ron…_

Ron was always very protective. Partially because of the river incident, where I was knocked into a coma for two weeks trying to save him. He always kept an eye on me after that, and got twitchy when I said I’d be going to the brook with Luna (never following, of course, because he was _afraid of water.)_ After the Chamber incident, he became more so.

_Ron would probably try to destroy Knockturn, honestly._

I wasn’t going to lie and say I wasn’t sweating bloody bullets. Knockturn Alley was goddamn shady and I had zero experience in there. And the protectiveness of my family was through the roof recently. It was a bloody _miracle_ Percy went off alone.

_Well, what they don’t know won’t harm them, yes?_

_I’m gonna die. Again. It wasn’t very pleasant the first time. Which is an understatement._

_But the after-effects were quite pleasant._

_Oh, shut up. This sucks. Everything sucks._

Did my nervous babbling habit evolve into talking to myself? God, it got _worse._ But really, I had to do this. As much as it hurt me to have to set aside all the research on Helvynya Prevett and the Dark Arts, it had to be done for some Hogwarts adjustment. I still had things to do in Hogwarts, of course, but that was mostly covered. 

Allies — _friends_ — to be able to fall back on if I got too wrapped up in my head; a position in Slytherin that would make sure I was a little comfortable; a good understanding of the sociopolitical situation that dominated the students, though I was woefully underinformed about the professors. Things that might put me and mine in danger were mostly taken care of, and I’d use this year to put Malfoy down and set up some sort of way to protect Luna from cruel little fuckers dressed in Ravenclaw blues and bronzes.

This was all well and good.

It was time to concentrate on that question:

What was taken, so I was given to the Weasley family?

Because there truly was something different about this world, something much more violent and vicious than what I remembered. The vision-nightmares told me of death beyond those I knew, of scars and wounds harsher than should be there. And the way Tom- the way the diary Horcrux died, I knew for a fact it was quick in the books and movie, and Harry was awake and got off with nothing more than a rounded scar.

But that’s not what happened. Harry had passed out because the basilisk poison was much stronger and Fawkes had to sob just that much harder, and the magical backlash rendered him unconscious. (Madam Pomfrey loved ranting about one’s injuries to their faces, which others could easily overhear, to make them _stop getting injured._ ) And if I wasn’t _blind_ , there were odd, discolored veins all down Harry’s wrist last year, peeking out from underneath his robe sleeves. Scars from the poison itself, not just the fang.

There was something wrong with the damn world, it probably had something to do with why I was given Clairvoyance on top of Mage Sight _on top of_ reincarnation, and Helvynya Prevett was my only clue.

So, yes.

Into Knockturn Alley I go.

 

**…**

 

It was noticeably cooler in Knockturn. The shadows seemed more menacing, the upkeep of the shops seemed to descend into dust and cracked glass and grime. Moss grew in between the cobblestones, ivy grew up dilapidated street lamps with barely any light to them. Flimsy stalls lined with organic odds and ends sprouted out of nowhere. The crowd was not bright-eyed and laughing, but shuffling and dark colors and hunched shoulders.

Was it odd that I felt strangely comfortable here? Not as in, I would definitely walk into the alleyways and only expect a bit of trash and maybe an employee taking a smoke break — Diagon Alley hid those away with flowery gates and stuff normally, though — but… Well, I didn’t feel afraid, when I thought I would.

A flick of my fingers, barely a mutter, preparation for a headache, and I dismissed my _Dī-konden An-drixtā_.

Ahhh, this was why. These colors, they were very geared towards the Dark. Very slow, sighing songs and gentle-pulsing colors. Some were inhuman, they moved more erratically, there was a glow to them and a ripple in them that gave them away. Some were wispy and blackened with Madness. Some songs were screaming, some were whispering, and it made a very sinister picture, the shadows of the alleyways glowing with magic.

I fit right in with the black robes and hood, though, which was a bit amusing.

And then I was grabbed, my wrist jerking to the side.

“You!”

I Occluded the instinctive flinch away. And I tilted my head to the side consideringly. “Yes?”

“Magic so beautiful. Lovely lovely lovely.”

What the fuck.

The man was old. Stick-like limbs, the mottled skin stretched over his bones like balloon rubber, teeth jagged and browning. Wild, white hair, dirt and what looked like sewer smeared all over his raggedy clothing. Crazed eyes, blank but also very sharp. A clear sort of blue, pale like the sky through the clouds. I clenched my jaw, recoiling not at the sickening state of the vagabond, but at his colors, at his magical core. It was weeping, and the colors were splintering, writhing like orange maggots.

Instinctively, I drew my indigo in, pulling the crisp edges away; I didn’t want my deep, deep crimson to touch his fragmenting magic. The silver lines were wrapping around my indigo, trying to wrap themselves into a net to keep his magic from fucking molesting mine. God, I was _so_ glad I didn’t have the touch or smell sensation of Soothsaying; it would’ve been slimy, and it would’ve been shit. I could just tell.

“I will fucking _end_ you if your disgusting magic touches mine.” I snapped out impulsively.

(So I was protective of my magic. Wasn’t everyone?)

The man froze. I thought he was _dead_ for a second, the way he froze and his magic began to wilt into some gross mix of brown and black, but then his broken pieces of magic slunk away from mine. Like they were shattering into pieces too small for me to see anymore. It was extremely fucking disturbing. Magic shouldn’t have been like that, all… all sharp and robotic and clunky and broken, like you were looking at a bird with twisted wings or a baby with gnarled faces or something messed up like that.

“Is sorry.” said the crazy fucker, “Forgot. You you you, though. See. You See.”

“Baldwin!”

Both of us turned at the voice. It was another grungy old man, though he wasn’t smeared with excrement and had salt-and-pepper hair riddled with… something. Lice, maybe, but they were too big for that. And there were swirly tattoos all over his exposed, waxy skin. He ran up, pulled the crazed man away from me, and bowed shortly.

“Awful sorry, miss,” the man said — friendly and polite for a vagabond, which was always nice to see — “‘E dint mean no ‘arm, miss. Not Baldwin ‘ere.”

I frowned. Well, I was a bit of a bitch, too. Not that it was unwarranted; the day my magic became that glassy and fragile as Baldwin’s would be the day I asked for a core-bind myself. So I shrugged. 

“No harm done, I suppose.”

“‘E gets li’ this, ‘e does. Was a real good wizard ‘fore this, I swear! Best in our Brother’ood! But ‘e wanted to force ‘imself to be a Soothsayer, eh? Dint do it righ’, Baldwin. Gotta have the power, eh? Dint have ‘nuff, made ‘imself a tad spare.”

I was, internally, horrified. What the _fuck._ This is what happened when you trained yourself to be a Soothsayer _badly??_ ALBY could’ve been that guy? Fuck, man!

But outwardly, I just nodded. “Right. I’m off, then.”

“G’day to you, miss! Brother’ood’s blessin’s!”

Well, then. I was grossly undereducated in unnatural Soothsayers. I mean, I knew one could be born with the ability right off or had it slowly develop over their lives — particularly in children who were around huge, powerful blasts of magic as fetuses — or if you were old and powerful and ambitious enough, you could learn. So this was what happened when you weren’t powerful enough and wanted to be?

Bloody hell. 

The rest of my journey through Knockturn Alley was punctuated with odd incidents like that. Things big enough to scare and bruise, but nothing that I couldn’t get out of. It helped, I think, that I knew to stay away from the Madness-tinged magic, from the really frightening-looking inhuman cores; the ones that just didn’t sound right, worse than just twisted wings and gnarled faces. There was okay-ness with the haunting tunes, but magic that shrieked and went brittle was just…

There’s a certain beauty you can see in creepy things, right? There’s a togetherness that works, and maybe you personally don’t like it, but you can see how it might be appreciated? I avoided the clouds of color that didn’t have that, that were shattered beyond repair and stiffened and cracked like stone. When your core was broken, it was worse than not having one. They looked it, too, and I stayed away; I didn’t care to be murdered, thank you very much.

It was slow goings, though, because if you looked to be in a hurry, eyes were watching your every move. That, and Knockturn Alley was all twisty and tricky, so I painstakingly memorized odd landmarks that weren’t viable to change, backtracking over and over, making sure I’d be able to get out. And it took a while to find a place that looked to have books; not shady enough to deter my senses, but shady enough to have the autobiography of a Dark Lord (Lady?) with Clairvoyant powers.

The place I chose was called The Rookery, tall and thin and imposing. Dusty yellow windows filled with books stacked all up and around, dead vines hanging onto mismatching, grey bricks. There were iron bars over the glass and an iron gate on the door, open.

The door had one of those old timey bells, but instead of chiming, it was a high-pitched flute note. Odd.

“Werewolves hate that sound.”

I looked at the… at someone at the counter. They were wearing what looked to be an abaya, those long black dresses that covered everything but the face, making their wearer formless. Only, instead of a face gazing at me, it was just a white mask. There were no eyes, just a smile of rounded, melting teeth. Shit, that was eerie.

But I nodded politely. “Are the iron bars outside to deter Fae, then?”

“Astute, young miss. Indeed. A shame, you see, as I have no problem with the Unseelie. But Seelie often like to spy for the Ministry, and it’s a bit bothersome. Were you looking for something?”

“I was, actually. _Sollertia Augurium._ ”

The figure was silent. Then, quietly, “…My, my. Bit young for such an undertaking, aren’t you?”

I stepped closer to the counter, mindful of the books all stacked in shaky columns and the fact that the shadows in the corner I’d just passed were moving slightly. “I’d rather get it over with while I’m young and healthy than wait until my creaky bones can’t handle it, wouldn’t you?”

“Ah. Young and foolish and reveling in it. Well, then. I will tell you now, young miss, I doubt you would be able to afford Helvynya Prevett’s _magnum opus._ You seem to be a sprightly little thing. You do not do business in the Dark much, do you?”

Looking down on me, eh? Well, that was vaguely annoying.

“Please don’t misunderstand me. _Sollertia Augurium_ is valuable to me for more than its obvious Dark magic.” I retorted as politely as I could, keeping my voice pleasant.

“Oh? A budding Legilimens, are you? I know you are an Occlumens already.”

Well that was disturbing. Knocking on my shields without my notice. I couldn’t even see his… her? …its eyes.

“Something of the sort.”

The masked figure chuckled. “Well, young miss, I ask you not to misunderstand _me_ , in this case. _Sollertia Augurium_ is a rare text in this world, and I would only take it out for its buyer. Judging by the state of your robes… you are not.”

_This fucking-_

Nope. Occlumency. Calm. Do _not_ attack the creepy cryptic shopkeeper in the shady bookstore in possession of a book of knowledge you need. Bad idea, Lyssie. I was sorted into Slytherin for a reason, and losing my cool results in bloody glass and screaming and sister being hurt. Not something I ever want to experience again.

(Besides. As much as I was good at wandless, I couldn’t just make shit up at once. It took practice. And I never used it offensively, not yet. And my physical state was weak; this thing could probably suck my brains out. Or something.)

Deep breath.

I sighed, shaking my head. “Damn. Well then, if that’s all, thank you for the conversation. Good day, and whatnot.”

Well, I _tried_ to keep the annoyance away. If it didn’t work, was that really my fault?

The figure nodded to me, white mask bobbing in the ink-black of its everything else, and that werewolf-prevention bell sang out its note as I walked right back out into the street. What little sky I could see between the looming rooftops was still bright, so I had time to look for another book shop, if I wanted.

But really, I was bumbling around. It was embarrassing. And dangerous, because what if someone really wanted to know who that little shit was, looking for Helvynya Prevett’s work? Maybe I was used to being able to pull contacts out of portraits and gossipy students, information out of allies and enemies, loyalty from friends and family, but floundering around in the Dark was idiotic. And what if I needed to access Knockturn Alley more than just this?

Alby refused to teach me the Dark Arts. Mum and Dad would, too. All I had was my visions, which weren’t that dependable; magic was too fickle to learn about through my wavering Clairvoyance. Electricity, sure. That was constant, and there was no risk of- of dismembered limbs or curse scars or whatever, if one made a mistake there. 

But magic that called to my core — Dark magic, which I would instinctively be better equipped to handle — I could only get that here. Helvynya Prevett’s _Sollertia Augurium_ , which might have answers to why I was given such abilities and put into this world; it would be here. The Dark was my core-allegiance, where I would find answers, and how I would get strong enough to match a Dark Lord bent on murdering my brothers. Goddammit, I wanted to at least accomplish one thing this summer, (fucking house arrest really fucked me over) and if anything, it should be accessing _Sollertia Augurium!_

Well. This was why I had friends, wasn’t it?

 

**…**

 

* * *

 

Lys,

 

You idiot. You went into Knockturn Alley alone? You have a death wish, don’t you? I know you do. It was obvious. My best friend is suicidal. Dear Merlin, what did I do to deserve this?

I’ll also have you know that my family is mostly Grey, and foreign. I cannot help with the Alley, I have never been to Knockturn. I would write Julius or Lucas — their families are notoriously Dark. Harper is also Grey, though I have suspicions that he is Grey-Light, if anything. The boy is too happy to be anything else.

The figure you described is possibly a cambion. Half-demon, one of the old ones that made deals for souls and such. They’re extremely illegal now, but their children still walk around sometimes. I had thought they were exiled from Britain, though. Your Ministry does not like Dark those kinds of sentients. Especially this one you wrote of, it sounds like they follow the old tradition.

In societies where they are allowed, their tradition is no longer legal. The cambion are born with distinguishing demonic features, depending on the parent. Tradition dictates they wear masks and cloaks to hide themselves in the day, and uncover only when they are about to hunt. It is so no one can tie their kills back to them. Not very useful, when there are so few of them; they cannot hide within a crowd that is not there.

I can’t believe the first time you step foot into Knockturn Alley — which even we in Germany have heard of, you idiot, that is how dangerous it is! — you come across the Brotherhood of Mirrors and a cambion. Only you, Lys.

You want to purchase something from the cambion? You can either use currency, which you are lacking, or you can try to appeal to the demon side. But for that, you must discover what the cambion wants. Demons are different, and their children more so. Some desire souls, some blood, some secrets, etc. It is a Legilimens of some sort, yes? That is mind magic, intruding magic, I would think it would desire a secret from you. A memory, perhaps.

Do. Not. Give. It. Your. Full. Name.

In fact, don’t do anything. I am going to ask my parents if I might not visit in Diagon Alley for a while. And then we’ll talk about this. I cannot believe I had to write you fourteen letters disparaging your guilty conscious before you wrote back — a summer’s worth of letters, Lys! — and then the next thing I see after your apology is a bloody letter detailing your desire to bargain with a demon. Besides your description, everything was very vague. 

What are you purchasing? Why? Do your parents know? No, of course not. Whatever. We will be having words, Lys. I demand to know what is going on.

 

Your Second always,

Dietrich Bastion

 

* * *

 

Oh, I could feel the irritation _leaking_ from the paper. (Even if that last bit made me smile at the very Hufflepuff loyalty he had for me.) The only thing Dietrich could’ve done to make it better was to send a Howler, which he’s much too dignified to do. 

I received similar letters from Lu and Jay, and Harper’s was just full of questions and worry. I mean, all of the letters were worried, but besides Harper, all of them had the same incredulous irritation with underlying panic. It was kind of funny, actually.

Back to topic, though: I didn’t know cambions were a thing. I mean, I knew _of_ them, as a general thing, but in the Harry Potter universe?

Stupid Ministry-approved textbooks. This was why I wanted to go into Knockturn Alley, so I learned real information without it going through a Light filter. Seriously, I studied everything about Knockturn I could, but I was still surprised. And Mum and Dad would ask _questions_ if I asked them, so that was out.

I laughed, though. Dietrich _had_ been forced to send me fourteen letters with only one message on them (“FOR FUCKS SAKE LYS, IT WASN’T YOUR FAULT, GET OVER IT, ARE YOU A SLYTHERIN OR NOT?” was the gist) which I was _sure_ was a joint effort between all of the boys, not just Dietrich. Dietrich didn’t have a potty-mouth (in English), that was all Lu. But he was probably frustrated with my apologies and ‘Are you okay?’s and ‘If you’d rather not be friends, I understand.’s and such. Really, though, I almost got him killed, I felt very justified.

Of course, leave it to the Fake French fuck to sneer and call me a stupid, noble Gryffie… Wait. That might’ve been Lu, too. 

They all wrote each other and mixed news together, and I’d heard of a lot of meetings between Lu and Jay because they were Dark purebloods and Death Eater families, and their parents knew each other, so their visitations were acceptable. Dietrich was at home in Germany, of course, so Flooing was expensive and troublesome, and Harper’s family — he was a branch of the main — was a bit of a joke, so no one big in the pureblood circles liked to associate with them. The best he got were the Carrows, and that family was _unusually_ sadistic, so Harper didn’t really like them.

But yes, in between studying my arse off with more wandless spells (to not die in Knockturn, that was a fantastic motivator) and playing with Luna in the forest (because I’d neglected her so badly over the year, and even if she understood and had a much less miserable year than she would’ve, I still felt guilty over it) and hanging about my brothers (overprotective prats they were), I was writing to my boys. The demon twins liked to tease because I seemed to have built myself a bunch of big brothers in Slytherin to replace my Gryffindors ones, but whatever.

Speaking of the demon twins.

“More letters from your firsties?” George asked.

I looked up. Sitting in the windowsill was relaxing. Reminded me of my first life, and afternoons on the rooftops. Flying was nausea-inducing, because I just didn’t have the balance or the stamina to be confident I wouldn’t fall, but it wasn’t that I was afraid of heights. I don’t think.

George flopped down on the bed. I raised a brow at him messing up my nest of pillows.

“Where’s Fred?” I asked, “Are you trying to convince someone that there was only one of you all along again?”

Fantastic prank. When they were younger, they almost got Charlie; our big brother was _so close_ to really believing that he made up George in his head and that there was only Fred this whole time. Mum spoiled it, but we still made fun of Charlie for almost being gotten by that one.

George laughed. “Right in one. We’re trying it on Ron this time.”

“Did you bribe Ginny properly?”

“She’s out with Mum. We bribed Percy with books. Sweet, lovely books.”

I rolled my eyes. “You took those from my collection. Don’t think I didn’t see you this morning, George. I want those back, I nicked all of them from the idiots in my House.”

“Oh? Has Lyssiekins become a little thief?”

“Not so. Dietrich and I are friends with the House Elves, we asked them to bring us any vaguely educational books that people’ve lost and not claimed last year, and voila!” 

It had been Dietrich’s idea, since we ate so often in the kitchens. He took all the Dark stuff, though, since I didn’t want to be caught. We traded them back and forth when we needed to, using his owl, since Errol was just about dead. My poor family owl.

George grinned deviously. “Ohhhh. So _that’s_ why I found a book called _Romancing the Dungeon Ghoul: Chains and Blindfolds._ ”

I choked. “WHAT?” That was bloody horrifying. “Is- Is that what it sounds like?”

My brother grinned. “Me and Fred were busting our guts when we saw it, didn’t you hear us?”

Now that I thought of it, I remembered ridiculous laughter earlier today, right before lunch. Ginny and I had shrugged at each other; when the twins were laughing like _that_ , you stayed out of the line of fire. Period.

I cracked a grin. “Tell me that’s in the pile you bribed Percy with.”

George scoffed. “What do you take us for, Lyssie? _Amateurs?_ Of course it is!”

I snorted. Then I frowned, thinking too deeply. “You… you don’t think he’ll… actually… _read_ it, do you?”

George blinked at me very slowly. 

“I do not ever,” he said, “ _ever_ want to think about that. Ever again.”

I nodded, feeling my face pale. It was… It was one thing to talk to percy about, you know, his Penelope problems. Or whatever. But thinking about…

Nope. Absolutely not. I was _not_ going to ruin my image of my favorite brother with this. No way.

“I’ll get to learning a wandless _Obliviate_.” I said dutifully.

George was almost turning green. “Dear Merlin, I’ll never be able to look at Prefect Percy again.”

Nope, nope, nope. Eroticas were a topic _never_ being brought up again. Especially in the same thoughts as my family. Gross. Fuck, that’s so gross. I turned to George.

“Putting that topic away for _forever,_ what’s going on? You don’t come in here for the hell of it, you know.” Somewhat true. Everyone was very used to going in and out of my and Ginny’s room, since I usually slept better — aka, didn’t have nightmarish visions — with someone there. “Did you need something, George? Do I have some sort of secret of the universe you desire?”

My brother perked up, taking the chance to lighten up the conversation immediately. “The location of the Slytherin common rooms?”

“Over my dead body.” I said cheerfully.

George sighed theatrically. “Why, oh why, don’t you love me, little sister? O twin of my twin’s sister? O basilisk slayer, Soothsayer, Seer, wandless wonder witch?”

“My dear brother, twin who is not my twin, I don’t know what you mean.”

He grinned at me as I went back to reading letters. “You alright in Slytherin, then, Lyssie? You’re getting letters from _boys._ Snakes, sure, but still: _boys._ ”

I looked up to see George, still flopped about on my bed, waggling his eyebrows at me. Cue another eye-roll. “I’m doing fine. Me and Malfoy’ll be fighting for the _parvus potesta_ next year, since he only retained his position by the grace of his father. And nothing was concluded from the Chamber incident. Slytherins will be much nicer to me, I guarantee you. And I’ve got my firsties; they’ll watch my back. I’m doing fine in Slytherin.”

“Hm. Just wanted to make sure. Little Lyssiekins, all grown up.”

“Is this the part where you expound about how you held me when I was a baby?”

“Nah, I’m good. Though I _did_ do that. You wouldn’t stop trying to poke out my eye, little brat.”

George was already rolling off the bed, starting to leave the room. He’d only come in here to make sure I was alright, I suppose. In his own way. That, and boredom.

“That was Fred.” I corrected nonchalantly, skimming letters as he ruffled my hair in the passing, leaving me to my work.

Work. Ergh. If I thought it’d be a right long time before I had to work again before (my first life’s job… my god, what an adventure that place was… retail, I’m telling you), I was proven wrong now. Not that it wasn’t worth it, of course. I don’t think I’d be able to handle it, losing one of me and mine’s colors in the world.

“ _Finite,_ ” I said quietly, cancelling the _Dī-konden An-drixtā._

George’s deep violet and plum colors were trailing, very lightly, out of the room. Outside of the room, the trail was wispy and fading, but I could hear his playful, gentle core-song, muffled. Above me, in Percy’s room, was his own hum, more peaceful and more finicky, the sky blue leaking through the floorboards and raining down into Ginny and my room, saturated with our own colors. Outside, if I concentrated, I could see the faintest outlines in the woods, obscured as they were by distance and old wards. Ron and Fred were together, burgundy-lilac and sunset-orange. I was missing my twin’s maroon, my mother’s candy-red, my father’s royal blue. And I’d been missing Bill’s grey-blue and indigo, and Charlie’s jungle green, for a while now.

Yeah. These were the colors I’d want around for the rest of my life. Maybe a few more, steel-blues and teals and corals and a moss green that I’d gotten used to, maybe some peacock-like colors and a certain spring green and a lavender-teal that lived across the woods.

I’d like to do without that sickly yellow — _Fucking Pettigrew —_ though. Ah, well. It was only a year.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, I almost forgot to update. Ughhhh. Not gonna lie, I don't really like this chapter. It's... preparation for later, yes, but it's pretty much filler. I drag out the summer in this arc. But this arc does get fun, I promise. Later. :)
> 
> As always, thanks for reading/commenting! Hope the world-building's at least interesting to those who don't care much for that in fanfic. :D

 

 

**…**

 

“I’m going to _kill_ you for this, Lys.”

Proving Dietrich wrong about my lack of self-preservation (my, how _un-Slytherin!),_ I ducked behind Harper. The boy was only two inches taller — though his head of silky curls gave him a bit more height, in a very fluffy sort of way — but he just had one of those innocent faces that you just _couldn’t_ attack without feeling bad. We must’ve made quite an odd scene, scrambling around Harper near some quieter corner of Diagon Alley.

Harper flailed as I clung to his robes like a limpet. “Lys! Get off! Dietrich’s gonna kill me!”

“No one would kill you, Harper, you’re too adorable.” I countered, peeking out over his narrow shoulders and resisting Harper’s half-hearted attempts to shrug me off.

Dietrich sighed out his irritation, then rolled his eyes. “Fine. Stop causing a scene. We are going to… What is it? Fortescue’s? I will scold you later, when you cannot hide behind Harper.”

Well, that wasn’t menacing at all.

Harper brightened at the same time as I let him go. “Florean Fortescue’s, Dietrich, it’s the best ice cream parlor in Britain! You’d like it!” said our friend happily, starting to dig around in his robe pockets for money.

I smiled. “I _am_ sorry that I keep worrying the hell out of you, you know.”

“Bah. It is…” Dietrich fumbled for the words, stepping in beside me as Harper led the way cheerfully. “…in your nature. You like playing with risks. For noble reasons, I suppose, but it is still giving the rest of us heart-attacks.”

Harper slowed down to join us, taking my left flank as Dietrich was walking on my right. “Mm, you _should_ be careful in Knockturn, Lyssie,” said Harper, “Maybe it’s because your parents never took you inside and taught you about it right, but there are a lot of nonhuman neighborhoods that aren’t sectioned off well. Like… It’s like… Reserves, I suppose.”

I frowned — reserves sort of made all sentient magical nonhumans animal-like, aka subservient or whatever, which was a dangerous line of thought — but nodded. “I thought they, er, the neighborhoods were blocked off? Guarded and such?”

Harper laughed. “Of course not! Knockturn Alley is in such a horrid state, it’s like a bunch of death traps all lined up. Humans can wander in certain places, but otherwise, they’ll get eaten or something. The Ministry _says_ they’ll punish other races for killing humans, but they won’t, not really.”

Dietrich scowled. “Half of your magical center is lawless? _Dumme Briten.”_

“Wha- That was German! I thought you were French!”

“I’m going to curse you slowly, Harper.” Dietrich growled.

I laughed and we crossed the sunny Alley and reached Fortescue’s. There was a queue already, which we stood in to wait. The place was as magical as always, and I’d already cast my _Dī-konden An-drixtā_ a while back. There were people running all over the place, children playing, Hogwarts students grouped together. Hot and brilliant and magical.

In an ice cream line, it wouldn’t do to draw suspicion with talk of Knockturn Alley and demons. So… “Seriously, though, who are the Brotherhood of Mirrors?” I asked.

Dietrich raised his brows. “You do not know?”

Harper ordered for all of us, and we handed him coins as he glanced back. “They’re not very big in Britain, Dietrich. Erm… I think they’re only in Knockturn Alley now, because they’re famously Grey. Not a lot of Grey out in Diagon, yeah?”

Plain chocolate for me, butterbeer-vanilla for Harper, and something peanutbuttery for Dietrich. We took our cones and started to walk around, trying to make it difficult for anyone to catch too much of our conversation. I had a feeling someone would object to three second-years whispering about the Dark Arts and Knockturn Alley this intelligently.

Dietrich started to explain. “They’re a religious sect. Worship the oneness of the world, connected through magic, I believe. I do not know their exact principles — the religion is found more in Asia and Asia minor — but the Brotherhood pursue something called the Will of Magic, which apparently leads them to destitution.”

“How?” I asked, intensely curious. I didn’t know there were religions in the magical world.

“They treat everything as magic. Nothing belongs to them, all things can do is leave impressions upon them before they pass, as the Will of Magic dictates.” Harper chimed in matter-of-factly.

Dietrich and I stared at him.

He shrugged, looking more interested in his ice cream than anything. “My mother is an Egyptian merchant. She deals with Turkey and India a lot, and there are lots of Brotherhood in those places. They’re very nice people.”

I blinked. “Harper, why do I have this funny feeling you’re secretly a genius?”

Harper blinked innocently back. “What do you mean?”

I snorted. “You are. You definitely are. It’s so secret, not even _you_ realize it. You’ve got the Avalonian Mandates or something memorized to the line, don’t you?”

Harper responded — unconsciously — by starting to fidget in place, still looking around at the Alley. It was the ADHD, I think;it was hard to remember at school, because we had a very nice schedule in place for Harper, but I saw it now. He was trying hard to talk to us, but he’d start getting caught up in looking around or eating or he’d just get distracted. Just like before, when we didn’t have a nice routine guided by classes and Lu’s obsession with being outside (for Quidditch).

“Well, back to topic, then. How do I ensnare a cambion?” I asked jokingly.

Both of them winced.

Dietrich muttered, “One does not ensnare a cambion. They are half-demons, you do not want them about you.” Then he frowned, and his voice rose a little bit. “Why did you go alone? Into Knockturn? Are you trying to get killed? _Vous attirez le danger tout comme les fleurs attirent les abeilles!_ What do you want from the cambion? How did you even find it? You must’ve gone very far in!”

I shrunk a little. Here was the lecture. Dietrich was just reminded of how much I annoyed him with my lack of forethought. Whoops.

“There are worse things than a basilisk, Lys!” Dietrich went on furiously, “The cambion, do you even know what type it is? _Pourquoi mon meilleur ami est-il si fou?_ Natural Legilimenses can make people go insane if they try hard enough, never mind half of their blood being demonic! And the Brotherhood, a failed Soothsayer, too? _Mon Dieu_ , Lys!”

It was too late to hide behind Harper, wasn’t it?

Harper gave me a pitying look. Dietrich was his main tutor, so he was subject to these rants, too. Little bits of French interjected meant a lot of emotion. Usually irritation, for this one. Dietrich’s smile was his resting face, and his scowl was everything else.

Reminded me of my mother. Had to get everything off her chest in one go, after building it up.

That was a little funny. Dietrich and I were similar in that regard. I liked to think I had Dad’s temper, which meant my capacity for emotion was a bit bigger. Took me a little bit to really start reacting emotionally, which was good for now, but might be troublesome later. Like with the bloody basilisk, I really had to talk myself into that one.

(Hah. Maybe it was good I was concussed afterwards, that’s all I remembered. The abject terror was a little dulled after an experience like watching a friend die and hating yourself for not even being able to say goodbye properly. Stupid Tom shouldn’t have concussed me, the bloody bastard.)

Harper grinned a little, cutting into Dietrich’s tirade with practiced ease, “We both know you were just worried, Dietrich. I’m sure Lyssie had a good reason for going into Knockturn Alley! Have a little faith, yeah?”

Dietrich blinked, looking a little surprised at himself; he regained his composure admirably quickly, and nodded to me. There was a bit of guilt in his frown. “Ah… Apologies, Lys. I should be listening to you, too.”

I shrugged. Why wouldn’t I forgive Dietrich for being that worried about me? “Mother bears in rage, I’m used to those. Just sit tight and wait it out, yeah? You should meet my mum, you can swap intimidation tactics.”

“I am not sure if I like the comparison.”

Harper laughed. “I like it! You’re very mum-like, Dietrich.”

“I do not like the comparison at all, now.” Dietrich said flatly.

I grinned at him. “Too late.” I shook my head. Gotta stop distracting myself. “I guess I deserve that. The, er, lecture, I mean. I just… You both know I’m a Soothsayer, yeah? My core’s naturally Dark, you know? First in my family, but it’s been warped a lot with how surrounded by Light I am. I just want to… I want the Dark Arts, I want to learn it so well that I can keep it all away from me and mine if I have to.”

They were quiet.

Then Dietrich snorted. “Nobility, as I said.”

I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. Any more questions?”

“You really want to talk to this cambion, Lys?” Harper asked, blue eyes rounded in concern.

Unable to resist, I ruffled his dark curls. Fluffy-headed boy, he was a gift to humanity, really. “The cambion had a bell to ward off werewolves and iron bars on the windows. They didn’t want any Ministry, they were deep in Knockturn, but they didn’t attack. They’ve got true history in there. Not just… propaganda, or whatever, but actual…”

There was a very obvious tone of wistfulness in my voice. And why wouldn’t there be? The Dark Arts were _evil._ Dark magic simply required stronger, usually negative emotions. Was it evil, to feel so much sadness that you cast an _Imperio_ to keep someone from killing themselves? Was it _evil_ , to feel so angry, that you cast a Bloodboiling Hex on someone trying to kill your family? It was too situational for black-and-white mentality like that.

And my very _core_ called for that sort of magic. Magic that depended on feeling so strongly, that you did something about it. On piling up enough emotion inside you that you burst. As long as I controlled when and where and what, there was nothing wrong with that. Dark magic required that, a more precise control in your actions, and that was it.

Whatever. I was drawn to the Dark Arts, I wanted answers, I wanted to use them to know how to protect my family, whatever. There were too many reasons to name, to justify what I was doing. Because, you know, such was the world that I was conditioned into feeling guilty for being a naturally Dark-cored witch.

Harper was smiling softly at me when I snapped out of my funk.

“Harper?” I asked.

He grinned. “You should’ve been a Ravenclaw!”

“What?”

“Chasing after knowledge.” Dietrich explained, crossing his arms, looking very resigned.

“Well, I mean, I suppose? I like Slytherin, though.”

“I’m glad you’re in Slytherin! Would’ve been right boring without you, Lyssie.” Harper laughed.

I grinned at both of them. “Right? So, then, cambion? Any ideas?”

Dietrich sighed. “Ah. Let’s get to work. You want to go into Knockturn and catch a cambion, we’ll make sure you are ready for it. I think my estate’s library will have some books on the Mind Arts we can cross-reference with a blood abilities text of some sort…”

 

**…**

 

* * *

 

-easiest to make a deal with a natural Legilimens through candor, which you have an abundance of — how you are a Slytherin is sometimes questionable, in this way — so with demons’ tendency to know when someone is lying, that is the route you will want to take.

I suppose politeness is also called for. But not weakness. Be respectful, because demons — and I assume cambion — are proud creatures, but humans that are submissive are prey. No full name, obviously. Possibly will want to feed on a secret or a memory, though I am unsure if it will be completely taken from you or simply shared. Cambion are fickle like that.

Good luck, Lys. Be safe.

 

Dietrich Bastion

 

P.S. I am sorry I lectured you. I should also learn to trust you, after the amount of trust you have put in me. I will try, though you are a very troublesome leader and friend.

 

* * *

 

Glancing at the bottom half of Dietrich’s last letter, I took a fortifying breath. Dietrich, Harper, and I had done quite a bit of brainstorming and research on cambion and natural Mind Arts (which Helvynya Prevett popped up in again, as she was a rare, natural Occlumens) and we thought we had a good way to deal with the cambion. Dietrich wished he could be with me when I went, but international travel was a pain in the ass to get paperwork done for, so he refrained. Harper had to go to Egypt to visit his grandparents. And Lu and Jay, who I hadn’t seen but were in on this, were… well, they were Death Eater families, and I was a bloodtraitor.

Just me and my Gryffindor-blood and Slytherin-mind.

Which was fine. Harry and Ron and Hermione faced down crazier shit than this. No one’d be writing stories about the twelve-year-old who bought a book.

The singing bell rang out again as I opened the door. The inside of The Rookery was dusty and badly lit and interesting as it was before, and the figure behind the ancient — but lovely — cash register looked up. I did notice, this time, that the black robes were a bit fluttery, as if they were under water; which reminded me of dementors, which was not good.

The white mask was still grinning.

“Ah. So the young and foolish reveler returns. Welcome, human.”

I suppose that was fair. I mean, under my hooded robes, I didn’t hide much. Just my face and my hair, which was tied back.

Politely, I nodded. “Hello, again.”

Shit, I only just noticed, this fucker didn’t have any colors. Which was impossible, I didn’t cast a _Dī-konden An-drixtā_ at all today, I used it to navigate the Alley. But there was nothing. How? How did it pull its magic so far into itself that a Soothsayer couldn’t see?

Suddenly on edge, I gathered my indigo and silver and crimson closer, wrapping it around my body in layers.

The cambion chuckled. “Such control, for so young a human.”

My eyes darted from its lack of aura to mine. I let mine disperse, unwrapping it from itself; all I was doing was making myself a beacon, not hiding. Funnily enough, I’d never even _thought_ about how to hide my magical aura. I mean, I didn’t think anyone but a Soothsayer would be able to tell, unless I was spell-casting or something…

“I… never thought about hiding my magical aura like you do. Is it possible for humans to learn?” I asked, very interested.

The cambion cocked its head to one side, mask tilting. “It is. But it is a practice you humans do not bother with anymore. Once, your people hid yourselves in order to prevent mine from hunting you. The book is on the second shelf of the third row’s fourth cabinet, towards the middle. _The Magick of Man-Hunters_.”

Well, then.

I gave a crooked smile, after aborting a step towards that very area. “I wouldn’t be able to afford it, would I?”

The cambion hummed. Affirmation, then. Dammit. “Will you be leaving again, young reveler?” asked the cambion, voice as staid and steady as it always was. (And clear, too, despite the mask.)

Straightening, I approached on soft footsteps. “Ah, actually… I was hoping to substitute Galleons with something else.”

A spark. It was too quick for me to make out, but there was a flash of color. The cambion’s magic wasn’t simply hidden away, it was somehow rendered invisible to my senses. Fuck, I wanted that book so badly. But two books meant two secrets, or memories, or whatever the cambion wanted from me that would satisfy its demonic blood.

But it was certainly interested now.

“I hope you realize, dear reveler,” the cambion said silkily, “that to give aid to an exile of your Ministry is punishable with Azkaban. Perhaps you would be able to get away with it, given its recent breakout, but… well, those of demonic descent are not looked on favorably.”

I smiled, only putting a bit of sharpness into the expression. Dietrich and Harper warned me about it: interaction with the cambion was bordering on illegal, therefore actual equivalent exchange would definitely be Azkaban-worthy. As if I cared. As if the _cambion_ would care. Dietrich and Harper nodded when I said as much; we were Slytherins, after all. Rules were guidelines and suggestions and obstacles, nothing more.

“What’s your price, cambion? I would know the terms first, before the bargain.”

The cambion chuckled again. Then it stepped from behind the counter — its footsteps were as smooth as gliding — and motioned for me to follow. “Not here, reveler. For all my precautions, there are always Ministry dogs watching. Come.”

I hesitated. “I don’t mean to be rude, but you aren’t going to murder me in your cellar, are you?”

Another laugh. “Oh, no, reveler. If I were of that sort of bloodline, I would not be manning a book shop. On my blood and honor, you will not be preyed upon.”

With that promise — though it was conspicuous that the cambion didn’t say that I wouldn’t be harmed — I followed. It led me to a backroom rather than a cellar, an archway all that separated it from the tall shelves of the store. It was dingy and cramped with Victorian furniture, the walls lined with shelves rather than paneling.

“Tell me, reveler, for I am curious. What do you expect to give?” The cambion sat on a dingy couch gracefully.

I sat across from it. “A secret. A memory. Maybe a name. That’s… I figured, with you being a natural Legilimens, it would be a sacrifice of the mind and intellect.” Well, Dietrich and Harper figured, but they explained to me and I agreed with them.

The cambion nodded. “Astute. Very much so. Very well, then… What would you like, that I can offer to you?”

“ _Sollertia Augurium._ ” I replied immediately. Then, quieter, “ _The Magick of Man-Hunters,_ as well, though that one isn’t quite as important as Helvynya Prevett’s work.”

“Hm. You are determined to read the Mind Eater’s work, aren’t you?”

Good god, that was a telling nickname. Who on earth _was_ my ancestor?

I nodded. “What would you like in exchange?”

The cambion’s aura flickered again. Too quick to tell, again. “Memories and blood.”

Shit.

“To be consumed or to be shared?” I asked, trying to work out how to get out of the blood-thing.

“Shared, is all I ask. The blood will augment that.”

“Blood exchange is dangerous.”

“I ask for it only because you are a Seer. Of what sort, I’ll not pry, but Seer-witch blood is potent and powerful. If it sets you at ease, reveler, I am not interested in using it for anything but sustenance.”

That… could possibly be okay. Blood was dangerous — very, very, very dangerous — to give out and leave around everywhere, but only because of the magic that could be tied in with it. But consumption was fine; people donated blood to vampires… not all the time, but they did. And there was no worry, because their faces and names were anonymous and the vampires drank it.

Consumption was safe. It would cancel out any individuality within the blood, so no one could track or control me.

“You’re not going to… vomit up the blood and then use it to bind me to your will or anything, are you?”

“That would be a gross waste of what is considered to be a delicacy, reveler.”

“How much of each for _Sollertia Augurium?”_

The cambion leaned forward slightly. Excited, I reckon. “Three memories of fear, three memories of pain, and a teacup’s worth of blood. The Mind Eater’s _magnum opus_ is rare, and my edition is rarer still, for being written in English rather than Italian.”

I fought with myself for a while. The memories were a little… well, anything I gave the cambion would be dangerous. If they were _my_ personal memories, it would know more about me. If they were memories of visions, it would know what sort of Seer I was. The blood wasn’t an issue, since the cambion seemed honest enough, and blood isn’t a rare meal for Dark creatures.

It already knew I was a Seer. And, really, if it didn’t connect that I wanted _Sollertia Augurium_ — a book written by a Clairvoyant — to my Seer ability, well… I had doubts. The cambion sounded old and intelligent, so keeping as much attention off of _me_ and more on an easy-to-interpret fact would be better.

“I accept the terms.” I stated quietly.

“Ah. Lower your Occlumency barriers, reveler, and bring up your memories.”

My eyes slipped closed.

**_Hello, reveler._**

 

**…**

 

The grass under me was soft, but it still itched through my T-shirt. Despite the shade of the tree I was laid out under, _Sollertia Augurium_ was resting, open-paged on my face. My eyes were closed, but the words were dancing across my eyelids.

“Goddammitttttt.” I groaned, for probably the twentieth time this hour.

Fucking Middle English.

I mean, I should’ve expected it. Helvynya Prevett lived in the 1400’s or so, that’s before _Shakespeare._ Which is already a pain in the ass to understand, but then going back another evolutionary step in English, it’s almost a different fucking language. Fucking. Middle. English. I kept having horrifying flashbacks to college and studying _The Canterbury Tales_ in every fucking class. The only saving grace was that Helvynya Prevett’s odd writing style, for her time. Sometimes, I’d be able to read pages of her personal diary — which was focused on her rather lackluster childhood — without slowly feeling my eyeballs burn.

Still, though. A week into the translation, and I wanted to smash my head against a wall. I might’ve been an English major once upon a time, but my specialty didn’t lie in fucking Middle English. 

On the plus side, when I got too irritated, the cambion had given me _The Magick of Man-Hunters_ as a bonus. Seer blood was just that delicious, apparently; the cambion wanted to encourage me to return and strike more bargains, I think. Which I might, _after_ I deciphered with this fucking monster of a book. Fucking Middle English.

A new, familiar song joined the quiet, barely-there whisper of mine. If I opened my eyes, I’d probably see the gentle silver-blues and lavenders joining the deep indigo and black-crimson of my own colors.

I smiled underneath _Sollertia Augurium._ “Hello, Luna.”

“There are wrackspurts all over you today, Guinevere.” she said mildly. I felt the earth when she sat down next to me.

“I’m thinking very negative thoughts because of this book.”

“It’s a rather Dark book, yes. I’m sure the Umgubular Slashkilters would like to read it.”

“This was a pretty pricey book. I paid for it in memories and blood, I don’t want to share it with the Umgubular Slashkilters.”

Luna let out a silvery chuckle, which sounded very much like her magic’s song with its whisper-like, but honest quality. “Maybe that’s best. They’ve got Loser’s Lurgy, you know. Minister Fudge has one, you know. He sends it out to infect his political opponents.”

“I see he hasn’t quite gotten Alby.”

“The White Bee isn’t his opponent yet. The Minister’s infected, too, only he’s the Minister so everyone ignores it. Say, Guinevere, isn’t that bad for your book? You shouldn’t treat it roughly. You were much nicer to the book last summer.”

I blinked my eyes open, looking at too-close pages that stank of Dark magic and age.

_“Because they were weak? — “No, because I was.” — black ink, pale hands, grey stone, red blood — scales like chips of jade and obsidian, laced together on a great beast of a creature. Don’t look at its eyes, don’t look at its eyes — red crown on its head, mocking the symbol that would be its death — he knows that monster is of his blood, stolen from his nest, so it is his voice that kills the basilisk. There is no loyalty to kin when they are — monster, brother-killer!_

_Stop._

_“Don’t hurt her, don’t hurt her!” — “Devil’s child! Monster!” — curled around the snake, protecting its writhing form with his too-thin ribs — grooves between them, buttons of his spine, hunger in his belly — crimson and black, curling around indigo desperately. Don’t hurt her, he thought, don’t — “I wish you had been born in 1926.” — She would have coaxed the laugh out of him._

_Stop._

I sighed. My Clairvoyance was quite tied to my negative emotions. This was why Occlumency was important; I had accidentally trained my Clairvoyance to be stronger with my distress, because that’s how I’d react to it for so long. I had to wean it from that, now. I had to try to train it back into ambivalence, if I could. Difficult, but possible, since my core hadn’t matured quite yet.

Helvynya’s work started with that notion, actually. That Clairvoyance took on aspects of accidental magic, in that it was inherently tied to emotion and childish perception. She described her own childhood, mired with visions, which were also tied to her distress. I’d like to know more, but I had to translate the damn thing.

“I’m sorry, Guinevere.”

I startled at Luna’s voice. “What for?”

_Sollertia Augurium_ was slid off my face, and I tucked it into my side protectively and I turned to look at Luna. She was still beside me, but she didn’t lie down; she was hugging her knees, chin resting on her arms. Her colors were gentle and airy, floating around her playfully. 

There was a touch of wistfulness in her voice. “You’re very, very infested with wrackspurts.”

My lips twitched upwards, crookedly tugging a smile onto my face. “That’s why I’ve got you, isn’t it? How do I get rid of them?”

Luna’s smile slowly came on. “You ought to put your book away and come fish for gulping plimpies with me, I think.” She paused, studying me, and then nodded decisively. “Yes, that will help you, Guinevere.”

“I would like nothing better.” I said with a grin.

I rolled over and up, dusting off my jeans and pulling Luna to her feet. We headed down the dirt road, and she took my hand in hers when we crossed it. I gave her an odd look.

“Are you babysitting me?” I asked, amused.

“Have to hold hands when you cross a road, of course.” Luna said breezily, “Otherwise fairiefiddles like you and I will be abducted. As much as I like moon frogs, I think we ought to stay here for a while. Your swarm still needs you. It’s not complete, yet, either.”

“And here I was thinking it might be because we’d be in danger of being run over.” I murmured.

Luna squinted at me. “Why would that be a danger? You’ll magic the Muggle-thing away. You’re the queen.”

I believe that was a compliment on my abilities with wandless magic and my position in Slytherin. Or maybe not even a compliment, but a statement of fact that I was doing well in both areas. Luna never did things like flattery or comfort; she stated facts of truth, of her own special brand, but truth nonetheless.

In the woods, we felt much more at home. The trees were tall, but spread out enough that it would be really dumb to get lost. And the canopy didn’t grow so thickly entangled that it was dark, but it was shady and there were splotches of yellow and shade all over us as we trotted through the undergrowth. The river here was shallow and soft and slow — not at all what it would be in a mile or so, as Ron could testify to — and Luna and I waded in without fear, starting to dig into the silt.

At one point, I splattered mud all over her, and she retaliated in kind with that innocent, wide-eyed look that both she and Harper had down to an _art,_ and it would’ve been demeaning of my ability to withstand puppy-looks if I didn’t respond in kind. When we were thoroughly caked in mud and dirt and grey sand, we both walked along the river to a deeper part to wash off. We took the time to polish up our wands and I showed her a bit of wandless, and then we sat with her feet in the water and nothing but our underthings on, everything else drying in the sun.

Silvery glints in the water told me finger-sized fish were darting between our legs, so Luna and I both went very still so we didn’t scare them. All the while, Luna chatted about her creatures and good things and I forgot how irritated I was.

“Hm, the wrackspurts are gone.” Luna remarked suddenly, cutting into her explanation of Heliopathic powers.

I blinked. I looked at _Sollertia Augurium_ , which was safely sitting away from the water, and under a few wandless protection spells. It didn’t look nearly as menacing.

“Hm, yeah. I guess I needed a break.”

Luna smiled wanly. “You’re very sickly, Guinevere. The nargles and the wrackspurts love you.”

I was sickly in a lot of ways. Even the bit of river play made me tired. But I suppose, yes, I was prone to a lot of danger and annoyances. Which was why I surrounded myself with people I trusted and hoped they’d be able to combat that stuff, while I faced the threats lingering on the horizon. When Voldemort rose, which would be next summer or thereabouts-

Flick.

“Ow!”

I rubbed my ear, frowning at Luna with a mockingly hurt expression.

Luna blinked at me. “Wrackspurts. I could almost see them without the Spectrespecs.”

My friend, who preferred drifting about alone but always welcomed what little attention I could give her. So very disarming to everyone, unlodging you from your comforts and normality because she just didn’t see things the same way. But whenever I needed her — or maybe not even her, just something to save me from being bogged down by visions and pressure and work, work, work — Luna was a lovely way to get away and breathe. Just like Harry, provided there wasn’t an arguing Ron and Hermione there to watch.

“You’re very busy with lots of things.” Luna said thoughtfully. “And you always have a reason, but it’s not good to forget about the nargles nipping at your heels. The book last summer was good for you, for a little bit, but this one isn’t nearly as nice.”

_You’re focusing too much on_ Sollertia Augurium _, Guinevere,_ I heard as clear as day in Luna’s soprano voice. Luna would be the absolute last person to judge me for enjoying the Dark Arts, not batting an eye at Dark creatures, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t aware of the dangers the Dark presented. And a full week of me simply studying a single Dark text like this, with breaks into another, other Dark text… well, it didn’t set a good precedent for my forage into the Dark Arts.

I smiled a little. “Well, good things I’ve got you. Watch out for me, Luna?”

Luna nodded faintly. “If you want, queenbee. But it’s easy for me to see if you’re alright. We’re both fairiefiddles, though I’m more of a distant cousin, you know. I know if you’re lost. Your swarm needs more help.”

“Ah, yeah. I’ll be a bit more open with my Slytherins. Dietrich’ll scold me if I’m not.”

“Secrets are sharp, you know, Guinevere.”

“Mm, I learned that the hard way. Don’t worry, Luna. I think I’ll ask my boys if they want to help with this project of mine. It’s a little Dark for your tastes, though.”

Luna nodded. She was a Light witch, through and through. “As long as you’re not alone. That’s how the wrackspurts and nargles get you.”

“Sounds horrible.”

“Not as horrible as the aquavirius maggots! They’re very tricky, and they…”

Luna explained to me all about the aquavirius maggots, which I think was some sort of parasite that controlled brains, but _only_ brains. Not too clear on that.

But it was good. And a reminder, that as much as my father’s genius was passed down to me, I had to take things slowly and as they came. I couldn’t learn a language in a week, and I couldn’t become a master of the Dark Arts in such time, either. All I could do was rotate my study schedule a little, try to stop becoming obsessed with one subject, and meditate a lot.

That’s probably all I’d be doing this year. This was the last year of peace, after all.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand here's Chapter 20! Out of curiosity, since I am showing off my OC's so much, does anyone have a particular favorite for any reason? :D
> 
> Ah, and this is a... fluff chapter? Filler? I dunno. This shit writes itself, I tell you.
> 
> And before I forget: Thanks for reading and commenting these last chapters, guys! :) Always glad to hear from you.

 

 

**…**

 

Harper couldn’t stop laughing.

“It’s not funny, Harper!”

Dietrich’s eyes were dancing with amusement. I pointed at him.

“You too!”

My Second merely looked away haughtily. “Such is karma, Lys. Blood was on our list of things you should not be giving to anyone or anything freely, you know.”

I groaned, collapsing onto the table. It was a busy day in the Leaky Cauldron, which hid us quite well. Everyone was all aflutter with Sirius Black’s escape from Azkaban, but not so much that anyone was nervous. It was pretty fucked up, to be honest. No one was scared because everyone knew that Black would either be looking for Voldy somewhere else, or going after Harry Potter.

Pretty fucked up. Goddamn sheeple.

But I had my own problems.

“It’s in _fucking_ Middle English. Bloody Canterbury Tales-esque English! Goddammit!” I moaned.

Harper started laughing again, looking through _Sollertia Augurium._

The book itself was creepy as shit. It wasn’t sentient like Tom Riddle’s diary had been — I’d checked for that _thoroughly_ after Luna mentioned the two in the same breath — but there was an icy blackness to it, a glow. The pages were yellow and soft and worn, the cover made of neat, brown leather embroidered with golden thread, old brass buckles keeping it shut. It didn’t look like that _now,_ though _._

I’d taken another week to throw some sort of glamour on it, making it look like _The Monster Book of Monsters;_ the glamour was from _The Magick of Man-Hunters_ , somewhat. I had to experiment a fuck-ton with wandless and copying other spells, but I managed it. It would’ve been _so much easier_ with a wand, but spells didn’t work quite the same way with and without — not to mention the bullshit Trace — so I had to be content with making shit up and burning a few of Ginny’s old Boy-Who-Lived children’s books.

(I’d tell Harry about it later. I had the _best_ present in the works for him, so when I wrote his happy birthday and whatnot, I think he’d get a kick out of it. I think Ron made him read one of Ginny’s books in their first year; Harry had been horrified.)

“What’s Canterbury Tales?” Harper asked, after he calmed himself down.

All three of us had looked through _Sollertia Agurium_ because none of us could fucking understand it. Dietrich had gone cross-eyed trying, Harper’d gotten too bored to even get past what I deemed the preface, and I’d been trying to decipher it for two weeks, in between figuring out how to not get caught with it and making sure I made time for other things, too, to combat any Madness that might creep in with such a blatant study of the Dark Arts.

“Muggle stories from the 1400’s or so.” I explained to Harper, “Very famous. ‘Whan that Aprille with his shoures sote / The droghte of Marche hath perced to the rote.’ _That’s_ Middle English. I can’t even bloody understand it anymore.”

Harper grimaced in sympathy. “Sorry, Lyssie. Can’t you cast a translation charm?”

“Too much magic in the book,” Dietrich said, poking at the disguised cover, “It may not be the original, but words have power. I think there are diagrams and such inside as well? Personal notes? It is a biography, a magical one, and those tend to develop… personality.”

I nodded. “I might destroy it if I tried. It’s just too old for me to try.”

Harper frowned. “Merlin, that’s tough. Sorry, Lyssie, you’re going to be translating this for the entire year! Probably more. Maybe there’s a dictionary you can get? If I see anything when I’m on my Mum’s business trip, I’ll ask.”

“Are you going to Egypt, Harper?”

(Harper’s mom was an Egyptian merchant master. Halfblood, I think, which was why Harper’s family didn’t get on with the main branch.)

He perked up. “Yeah, actually! You were just there, weren’t you?”

I smiled. “Only for a little bit, to visit my brother.”

“Next time you will come to Germany,” Dietrich said, looking at me fondly, “I will search the library of my estate, perhaps there is an easier way to bypass such magic. A translation spell of that sort will be useful.”

“I really, _really_ want to explore your castle, Dietrich.”

He nodded, grey eyes glinting with pride. “ _Schwarzvogelschloss_ will welcome you when you do, Lys. _Meine Mutter_ has been wanting to thank you, and your brother and Potter. I believe my father is trying to devise a way to gift your family with something.”

Harper laughed. “Ask him to write a marriage contract between you and Lyssie, Dietrich.”

Dietrich narrowed his eyes. “Why do you keep bringing that up?”

“Because you fancy-”

“ _Ta gueule!_ For the love of Morgana, Harper. That was months ago.”

I cleared my throat. “I’d like to point out that I have seven older siblings that will happily murder anyone that threatens my innocence. Ron and Percy especially. And I don’t doubt that they’d bribe the twins into joining their mindset. My father’s also really frightening. Oh, and I still think we’re all too young to be dating.”

Harper frowned thoughtfully. “Really? Twelve or thirteen is when purebloods start entering betrothal contracts, so everyone’s already thinking about it.”

I reared back in horror. “What? _Twelve?_ But… But… Wait, is that why Parkinson’s always all over Malfoy??”

Dietrich scoffed, crossing his arms and looking very unimpressed with both of us. “ _Ce n'est pas important._ I already have a contract. You British do things so slowly. I have been slated to marry my betrothed since she was born.”

I turned my horrified look at Dietrich. “ _WHAT?”_

Harper looked curiously at our stoic friend. “Does she go to Beauxbatons?”

“Yes. Amelie Lefevre, of _la Famille Lefevre-Maillard._ ”

“Mine, too. Catarina Sefa. I think she’s from a branch family of _Köken Sefa_ , descendants of the old kings of Anatolia.”

I slammed my hands against the table. “Wait, wait, wait. Both of you are engaged???”

“Yes.” they chorused.

“Have you even _met_ these girls?”

“No.” Harper said, shrugging.

“ _Mon dieu_ , I wish I hadn’t.” Dietrich sighed. He looked at me curiously. “Why do you not know this? You are pureblood.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m a bloodtraitor. Besides-” I shivered a little. “-if any boy thinks they’re going to marry _me_ , he’s going to have to duel at least three of my brothers, Ginny, my father, and probably myself beforehand.”

“I pity your future husband, Lys.” Dietrich said, shaking his head.

I grimaced. “Yeah, me too.”

As if I’d have time for such things when the war was coming. I was a translation away from a key to my existence and the difference of this world from what I remembered, which would no doubt help _me personally_ , but I still had shit to do. Spells to master. People to talk to.

I’d _actually_ forgotten to speak to the Sorting Hat like I said I would. For god’s sake, that’s how busy I was. The thing had been in Harry’s goddamn hand, and I’d been too concussed and grief-stricken to remember something that interesting. Why wouldn’t I remember that the Sorting Hat wanted to talk to me?

I checked Dietrich’s watch. Grimacing, I muttered to both of them, “You two have got to go, right?”

Harper actually pouted when he peeked over at Dietrich’s wrist. “Yeah, my mum’s going to scold me for putting off packing for so long. We still have to get the paperwork sorted out, I haven’t updated mine since I was five.”

I winced. “The Department of Magical Transportation’s international travel sect is really disorganized. Dad complains about them all the time, and seeing it firsthand... you best get there as soon as possible, Harper. Have fun in Egypt!”

Harper accepted a hug cheerfully enough now, but he grabbed onto both Dietrich and I — we barely managed to leave some Sickles for the food and butterbeers — and dragged us with him to the Floos. There, he took another hug from me, and Dietrich ruffled his hair. (Boys, honestly, they just couldn’t _hug_ , could they?)

“I’ll see you two on the Express in a month or so.” Harper said in goodbye.

“ _Voyagez en toute sécurité_ , Harper.” Dietrich said with a nod.

In a flash of green fire, Harper was gone.

I turned to Dietrich. “When’s your Portkey?”

“Two minutes,” replied my Second, “What are you going to do now? You have five hours until your brother comes for you.”

“I was thinking of going back to The Rookery.”

Dietrich blinked. “You think the cambion will have a translation spell of some sort?”

Well, that was nice. I was all ready for a lecture and everything. I nodded, smiling at the fact that Dietrich really _was_ trying to put more trust into me, despite my shitty track record. “Hopefully. Or maybe I’ll see if it doesn’t know a way to get my hands on Wit-Sharpening potion, so I can learn Middle English more quickly.”

“As long as you can pay its price safely.”

“As safely as I can. I watched it drink the blood myself, last time.”

Dietrich nodded. “Write me before you go kill basilisks again, Lys.”

I laughed. “Of course! I wouldn’t go creature-slaying without you.”

Steel-grey and cobalt colors gently rippled with amusement, and then he brought out a quill from his pocket. His international Portkey, which whisked him away in just a moment. I blinked away the residual wind and the dust stirred up by the sudden, magical exit. The Leaky Cauldron continued on as normal, and I turned to enter Diagon Alley, _Sollertia Augurium_ tucked under my arm securely, whispering a Notice-Me-Not on myself as I left.

I wondered if the cambion would mind if I just talked to it. I really missed having a mentor. It was my dad for a while, but then we all started going to Hogwarts and he had to work so much more to pay for it. Then it was Alby, but then Harry Potter started going to Hogwarts, so he had to keep an eye on him and man the turbulent waters of the British political scene. And then it was Tom, and we all know how that ended. I just wanted someone to help point me in the right direction.

Maybe Baldwin would talk to me. Hah. Nah, I’d see if the cambion was free. I should probably learn its name.

 

**…**

 

I used to be an artist, a long time ago. Nothing special, it was just a hobby, but I did make money off of what I drew occasionally. Used that money to try to pay for my English degree, not that it made a difference when I died in a car accident.

But yeah, I used to draw a lot. And then when Alby figured out that my Mage Sight was through the eyes and ears, he got me to learn how to paint. It’s not like we made masterpieces together, but it was a steady start and addition to my old skills.

So, of course — keeping in mind my lack of money (the Galleons I made from gambling last year were stowed safely away, for emergencies) — the only presents I could give were my talents. For the cambion, it was memory and blood; that was easy enough. For everyone else, I had to rely on my art, Percy’s handwriting, and a lot of research.

“Did you send Potter a birthday present, Lyssie?”

I looked up from my breakfast, at Percy’s questioning gaze, and nodded. “Yeah, Harry’s my Hospital Wing mate. I think I went more than he did, but every time we were bedridden, Madam Pomfrey put us next to each other.”

“Bedridden? You and Harry were bedridden?” Mum asked, concerned.

“Madam Pomfrey’s a worrier, Mum. I got stabbed by a _plant_ and she wanted to keep me overnight.”

Percy sat down at his place, having been tending to Errol. Mum whipped out a quick _Scourgify_ at his hands, which he thanked her for politely, and then he placed two letters down on the table. “Well, you and Ron have a reply from Harry.”

“Where is Ron?” Dad asked, still reading the Daily Prophet.

“Sleeping. The twins are, too.” Ginny answered, looking curiously at the letter that was now in my hands.

I shooed her away. “Back off, back off, I’ve got secret correspondence from my fellow infirm.”

“Ginny, dear, would you get your brothers?” Mum asked, waving her wand and dishing out food.

“I’m not putting one foot into Fred and George’s room, Mum.” Ginny warned, rising from the table and stealing one of my pieces of bacon.

“Oi! Get your own murdered pig.” I complained.

“Let’s not talk about murder at the breakfast table.” Dad commented mildly.

“You oughtn’t to be reading about murder at the breakfast table then, Dad.” Percy pointed out, smirking a little when I grinned at him.

Dad lowered his paper just enough to give us both an unimpressed look. It was a common sight to see, though it was usually directed at the demons twins. I wonder what would've happened if I'd been Percy's twin instead...

THUD-CLANK-BANG!-“GET UP, RONNIEKINS!” was heard from upstairs, muffled just a little. All of us looked up, wincing a bit for Ron’s sake. Then Percy started talking about being Head Boy, and Mum remembered and got all excited about it again, and Dad went back to his paper. I started on my letter, wandlessly shoving Ginny’s bacon onto my plate lazily.

 

* * *

 

Lys,

 

Thanks for the book, it’s really brilliant! I didn’t know there were books on wandless magic exercises like this, or maybe I would’ve gotten Hermione to sneak us some when we were in the Hospital Wing. If it weren’t so thin, I would’ve thought it was a proper textbook.

I sort of skipped to the middle of the book, though, and tried to move things around. The one time I got it, I thought I was going to pass out. How did you make it look so easy last summer?

Thanks a lot, really. I heard from Ron you stole a bunch of books from the Slytherins? Is this one of them?

Oh, and I wrote Ron already, but congrats on the Daily Prophet Draw. Hope Egypt was interesting. I’ll see you at Hogwarts, Lys.

 

Thanks again,

Harry

 

* * *

 

 

Aw. He was so grateful. And he actually thought I bought or shadily acquired it. I suppose it didn’t look _that_ handmade. I did learn how to printmake in my last life, and I had to do a lot of weird shit with wandless and such to get the parchment pages to be all crisp and sturdy. Percy did some of the handwriting — like, all the titles and headings and such — because Percy’s bloody handwriting was beautiful.

And it was really fun and useful to make it. Got me to review everything I knew about wandless, and then I memorized it more penning it down and drawing for it, and now Harry would have a little one-up on Voldy when it happened. Hopefully, I’d be able to encourage Harry to learn a wandless _Protego_ or _Accio_ , since those were really useful to have on hand. Maybe I’d force Alby to mentor Harry a bit more, since Alby did a pretty spiffy job with me.

While I was reading, the twins, Ron, and Ginny trudged downstairs. Ginny reclaimed some of her food, and started sniping at the twins, whose room apparently ambushed her when she tried to wake them. They were groggy and blinking the sleep from their eyes as they tried to eat their own spoons, seemingly unaware of both Mum and Ginny lecturing at them. Percy was talking to Dad now, and Ron was squinting suspiciously at me.

“Is that a letter from Harry?” my brother asked.

I arched a brow at him. “You recognize the handwriting? It’s almost as atrocious as yours.”

Ron scowled, and starting skimming his own letter. But soon enough, he went back to looking at me oddly. “Why’d you get a letter from Harry? What’s in it?” The _‘I’ll bloody kill him if it’s what I think it is’_ went unsaid.

“It’s a love letter. We’re going to elope next week.” I said flatly.

“Oh, har har, Lyssie.” Ron grumbled, rolling his eyes.

I tucked the letter into my pajama pocket and started messing with the twins’ food. Their scrambled eggs slowly started to slip onto Percy’s plate, piling up as Percy was too busy talking to Dad. The twins wouldn’t notice for a while, with how sleepy they were, still.

“He said thanks for his present.” I answered, nudging my indigo to animate fried tomatoes and mushrooms to roll towards Percy, “I thought it’d be nice to give him one, since, you know, he’s my friend and he was a key factor in me not becoming basilisk food.”

Ron grimaced at the memory, but was smirking as he watched the twins’ breakfasts roll by. He reached out to stab a few tomatoes with his fork, claiming them. “You’re not… you don’t, erm…”

“Fancy your best mate? Please, Ron, I don’t want to be murdered by my twin.”

“I saw you drawing that book, though. Pretty fancy for just a present to a friend.” he muttered.

“I’ll make you one, too, you git. Harry’s was a test-run-”

“OI!”

“Percy, you pig!”

“What’re doing with all our breakfast-”

“-it’s not like you’ll eat it all!”

“I didn’t steal your- What- Lyssie!”

Percy turned to me with accusative eyes. 

I blinked. “Oh, that was fast. I’m off to go play with Luna!” I said quickly, taking my buttered toast, the book that was actually _Sollertia Augurium_ , a Middle English to Modern English dictionary, and escaping out the back door.

“Be safe!” Mum called.

I waved quickly, and dodged when Fred chucked a piece of toast at me. Inwardly mourning the loss of the toast, I grinned at him and saluted. “For shame, Fred, how can you call yourself a Gryffindor Beater with aim like that?”

“Says she who won’t even mount a broom!”

I laughed and left, intent on finding Luna. August was a good season to look for gulping plimpies.

 

**…**

 

This was probably illegal or should’ve been.

“All those bruises and cuts, you know.” I said, looking at the assistant’s battered fingers with rather fake-but-believable sympathy, “You’ll either waste magic healing them, or spend a few Galleons on potions and creams for them. Plus! The pain, though momentary, of being attacked by a book that acts more like an animal?”

The weedy looking fellow — probably fresh out of Hogwarts, honestly — seemed to wince at the memory. Dietrich was browsing the bookshelf behind me, Lu poking his wand curiously (and dangerously) at the cage of _The Monster Book of Monsters_ books. There was a rare lull in Flourish and Blotts, the manager apparently having gone to the back for a cuppa, and I stood quite innocently in front of the assistant.

“It _is_ quite painful,” he said nervously, “but thirty Galleons?”

I smiled. “Well, think of it this way: you pay _me_ thirty Galleons for telling you the secret to taming these horrid books, and then _you_ ask your manager or coworkers for _forty_ Galleons. Maybe more if you play your cards right...”

Oh, he _was_ tempted. His burgundy colors rippled with interest.

And the fact that Dietrich had his eternal poker face on behind me as I smiled innocently _definitely_ covered the fact that thirty Galleons for such a tiny piece of information was a _complete_ con. The poor guy — I was willing to bet he used to be a ‘Puff — would _never_ be able to do what I was doing, not to a superior.

He swallowed, looked around quickly, then nodded. “Alright. But, er, don’t go spreading this around.”

I rolled my eyes. “As if I would. The secret is to stroke the spine — they go docile right away. Pleasure doing business.”

I took my thirty Galleons and turned, hearing the assistant mutter under his breath, “Bloody Slytherins.” 

Smirking to myself, I was quickly followed by Lu and Dietrich (the only ones who could meet up with me today, as Jay was Death Eater kid — Lu was, too, but he lied to his parents — and Harper was still in Egypt with his Mum). We were shopping for our second-year supplies, the books having been saved for last ‘cos they were so heavy.

“C’mere, you two. _Alevra Sarcius. Alevra Sarcius. Alevra Sarcius._ There, Featherlight Charms for all of us.”

Lu blinked, then glared. “You’re doing magic outside of school! The Ministry-“

“Don’t be daft, Lu. The Trace is on the _wand_. And _this_ wand is from that poor sod’s pocket, he just walked past with the thing hanging out of his trouser back. Idiot. Anyways, hold my things while I give it back.”

“Wha- Lys!”

“‘Scuse me, sir, I think you dropped your wand.” I said, holding the wand delicately by the end with the handle facing him. He turned and looked very surprised at seeing it.

Then he grinned sheepishly, scratching a scruffy beard. “Thanks, lass.” he said, Irish accent strong, “Wouldn’t’ve noticed meself.”

I nodded graciously, and returned to a bemused Dietrich and a gaping Lu.

“Wha- You- He just- Lys, how do you _get away_ with these things?” asked an exasperated Lu.

Grinning, I answered, “Lots of luck, I s’pose. Fortescue’s?”

(I knew those visions of thieves and shit would come in handy. But, seriously, you can’t just stick your wand in your back pocket. That’s just asking for it.)

My luck proved strong. We arrived just as the Golden Trio were leaving, and I broke off from Dietrich and Lu as they placed their orders (chocolate mint and butterbeer-vanilla, respectively) to say hello.

“Lys? What’re you doing here? Are you done shopping?” Ron asked.

“Just finished, actually. Dietrich and Lu are back there.” I replied, “Hello, Harry, Hermione. Pleasant summers?”

Hermione beamed. “Very! France was wonderful. Their magical counterpart to Diagon Alley was quite interesting, though I didn’t spend spend much time there. I’ve heard it’s the prettiest in the world, they’re very proud of it.”

Harry nodded. “Best summer I’ve had so far. Thanks for getting me that book on wandless magic training. It looked rather fancy, though — I hope you didn’t spend too much on me.”

“Oh, Harry showed your present to me earlier! It looks like a very informative read, where did you order it? How much was it?” gushed Hermione, looking excited at the prospect of ordering reading materials.

I raised a brow, looking at my brother. “You didn’t tell them?”

“Tell us what?” Harry asked.

I replied, “I didn’t buy that, Harry. I made it.”

Hermione gasped. “ _Really?_ But it’s so beautifully done! You decorated every single page with Celtic borders, and you drew all those diagrams! Lys, that’s _amazing!_ I thought it was ordered from somewhere!”

Ron rolled his eyes. “I told them, but they didn’t believe me.”

Harry actually pulled it out of his back pocket, looking at it as if it were the first time he’d seen it. “Wha- You _drew_ all this? Wrote all of it?”

I shrugged. “Percy wrote quite a bit. His handwriting is _ridiculously_ pretty- Hermione, _honestly,_ I’ll make you one for your birthday in September-”

“What? Really? Oh, thank you, Lys!”

She rushed forward to hug me and I returned it, laughing. “You’re acting like Christmas has come early! What subject do you want, then? I can do some of the more popular wizarding fairytales, Beetle the Bard stuff, if you want... I assume you wouldn’t know of those, being Muggle-born.”

Ron looked annoyed. “Where’s mine?”

“I’ll make you one, too, I said I would. When your birthday comes around again. Now, shoo. Scabbers has been sick lately, right? Have you already been to the Magical Menagerie?”

Ron frowned, poking at his pocket. “Yeah, he’s getting pretty old. Probably some late after-effects from Egypt or something. We’ll see you back at the Leaky Cauldron, Lyssie. C’mon, Hermione, she’s not going to get started _now._ ” Ron had to pull Hermione off of me, and she looked a bit abashed as she was dragged away.

Harry gave me a very grateful smile. “Thank you, Lys. No one’s ever put this much work into a present for _me_ before.”

_Knowing those stupid Dursley’s, that doesn’t surprise me._

But I grinned. “Don’t expect something _that_ fancy every gift-giving, Potter. Even if it’s not that heavy of a read. It _does_ take quite a bit of work, even with magic to duplicate things or erase mistakes in ink.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. See you, Lys.”

I rejoined Dietrich and Lu, both of whom would receive similar presents for their respective birthdays. It was nice, actually, to have kept such a skill from my last life. When I was younger, I refrained from intricate sketching and developed a better sense for color (splashing random experimental color palettes together passed off as toddler-level art, I think). It had been my only natural gift besides excellent memorization skills, and it helped a lot with quill-penmanship and the more abstract part of magic (I was very good at imagining things before my magic took over, which was why my best class was Transfiguration and Charms).

_Hm. When I learn how to make my drawings_ move _, that’ll be fun._

A project for later. Schoolwork, Occlumency, Seer abilities, and increasing my spell arsenal seemed more like very, very fun things for _work._ Art was, as it had been before, a hobby for relaxing. I could take my time with it and no one would fucking die for that.

Dietrich looked at me as I sat down. “Chocolate. Plain.” he said, handing me just that.

I beamed, pleasantly surprised. “I didn’t know you knew my favorite flavor.”

Lu nodded. “You told Harper last year sometime.”

“Oh, right. He made fun of me, the little git.”

“Nothing wrong with plain chocolate. Not that I can say anything, mind, I get the second-most expensive one.” Lu said, looking very content with his butterbeer-vanilla. “I suppose I’ll have to cut down, though. I’m trying out for the Quidditch team.”

Dietrich rolled his eyes. “We know, Vaisey. You have only told us once every hour.”

“And we _really_ wouldn’t have been able to tell, with how you dragged us out to practice every week last year.” I added.

Lu scoffed. “Dragged _them_ out. You only flew twice, once for the first flying class and once when you apologized to me for sneaking about our dorms. Silly of you, Lys, ‘cos we honestly wouldn’t have noticed.”

“It’s the Gryff blood,” I said solemnly, “I haven’t immersed myself into Slytherin enough yet. Maybe next year I’ll be a bit better.”

“Try this year,” he replied with a short laugh, “Lys, you’re practically the queen of Slytherin! Malfoy’s sure to challenge, since you know, everything’s all wonky with no one knowing which one of you is the _parvus_ leader. Plus, Zabini’s in N.E.W.T. year and she’ll be distracted...”

Dietrich nodded in agreement. “We will have opposition from third-years, fourth-years, and fifth-years, no doubt. The seventh-years are too busy, the sixth-years too underneath Zabini’s thumb.”

“Maybe from the sixes,” I countered, “Bole’s always hated me.”

“Slytherin Quidditch team. Chaser, I think? Wait, didn’t Bole send you a valentine last year?” Lu asked.

I snorted. “It was hexed. Doesn’t like bloodtraitors, much, that one.”

Lu frowned, and looked up thoughtfully. “He shouldn’t be too much of a problem. Bole’s an idiot. Like, Harper’s an idiot, but Bole’s an _idiot._ Derrick might be worrying, though, he’s Bole’s best mate, and he’s popular in his year. Lots of friends in the raven’s House.”

“I’m not popular in Ravenclaw,” I admitted with a sigh, “I’ve disrespected their upperclassmen too much. Bloody gits. If they didn’t start up the whole ‘Looney Lovegood’ shite and encourage the younger years to it, I would’ve left them alone.”

“Hm. Might not have been wise.”

“Oh, piss off, Dietrich. It was for Luna.”

“Not sure it worked, though, Lys.” said Lu quietly, “I’ve never seen Lovegood with anyone other than you or your sister.”

I sighed. “At least they don’t attack her anymore. I used to heal her bruises! They’d push her down stairs and rubbish like that. If I find _one_ bruise on her again this year, I’m going to do something drastic.”

Dietrich snorted. “Not to wish ill on your friend, Lys, but I am very interested in what your definition of ‘drastic’ is. Was dueling Pansy Parkinson into a mess not enough? You threatened to break her legs.”

Lu, having finished his ice cream a while ago (pig), leaned forward on his elbows. “Please tell me this plan involves the demon twins.” he said, smirking.

“Hm. Hadn’t thought of them. Maybe, if I’m feeling merciful.”

“Merciful? The demon twins, _merciful?”_

We looked at each other, and began to laugh. The twins, honestly, could be one of the _worst_ enemies you’d ever make. They honestly belonged in Slytherin, I don’t know why theyweren’t.

Dietrich glanced at his watch. “Hm. I have to Floo back soon.” He glanced up at me. “You are not the only one whose family has become very protective. I have to practically duel my father every time I have come to Diagon.”

“At least you get some dueling practice in,” Lu laughed. But then he frowned, peering over the table. “This late? Shite, Edward’s probably waiting for me! My pissant of a brother, he’s left me behind before.”

“Well, go on, you two,” I said, rolling my eyes, “It’s not like there’ll be basilisks out and about.”

Dietrich nodded agreeably. “There are cambion, though.”

Lu snorted. “I actually _can’t_ believe you’re friends with one.”

I rolled my eyes. (I felt like I did that a lot.) “Not friends. Acquaintances. It gets bored by itself, and sometimes I can trick a few answers out of it without giving any blood. Anyways, I try not to go too often, I can only shake my escort so many times.”

Lu grinned at me. “That’s pretty much friends, you know. Next time you go, tell me! I’ve never seen a cambion before.”

Dietrich groaned. “Do not become as troublesome as Lys, for Merlin's sake, Vaisey. Harper already wants to meet the Mirror Brother... that man, Baldwin. Lys cannot go _one season_ without doing something incredibly reckless like such.”

I made a very affronted noise of protest. “Excuse me, who was the one who went gallivanting into the Chamber with Malfoy?”

“Inconsequential. You are a trouble magnet, Lys.” Dietrich replied.

“And you’re a horrid best mate. Bloody Fake-French git.”

“I’M HALF!”

Lu was snickering into his hands. “C’mon, Dietrich, we’ve got to go. See you on the train, Lys.”

I waved at them as they disappeared into the crowd. One day, I promised myself, I’d get used to the Mage Sight thing and I’d be able to track people more in crowds. That’s one of its more useful applications, after all, but my magical core just wasn’t mature enough for that level of control. Always a work in progress, I suppose.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in the Leaky Cauldron, me eating my ice cream and ostensibly reading _The Monster Book of Monsters._ If anyone — like my brothers — asked, I was interested in Care of Magical Creatures. It was such a good idea, disguising _Sollertia Augurium_ like I did.

I grinned to myself. Helvynya Prevett was starting to get into the Dark Arts, which would make for some interesting combinations. She wasn’t a Soothsayer, but I’d figure something out. Maybe my own ancestor would be my mentor for a while.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I'm at, like, 300 kudos and a ton of bookmarks and WOW that's so awesome! Thank you guys so much for supporting this fic! I'm super grateful that y'all seem to like it. :)
> 
> So yeah, this is an early chapter. The reason for this is because I'm driving 7-8 hours tomorrow to go home for the holidays, so I'm just... not gonna post tomorrow. :P And I MIGHT skip next week's post, too, for holiday reasons, and also because I got some REALLY good conversation going last chapter in the comments and I want to edit the third arc a bit more, so that might take some time. XD Just a warning! 
> 
> That's it! :D Here's your weekly chapter, a bit early!

 

**…**

 

_Motherfu-!!_

“HARPER! You _bloody_ idiot, what did you do??”

He actually _did_ cringe (rare, for the normally unapologetic kid) and rubbed the back of his head. “Sorry, Lys. I was trying to clear up Lu’s nose — from his cold and all — so I don’t really know.” he said sheepishly.

“ _Finite Incantatum._ ” Dietrich intoned, waving his dark-colored wand — nice and polished, the neat freak — gently in the vicinity of my scrunched-up face. He raised a brow at me. “Better?”

I shook my head, my sleeve covering my nose. It was giving me a headache, smelling _every single scent_ this strong. Like it was all magnified a thousand times. _Every. Single. Scent._ And it was pungent as hell, like the things were being shoved up my nose and into my brain, pushing up on the back of my eyes painfully.

The compartment my firsties found was near the middle. For the first half-hour of the ride, I’d actually been with Luna and Ginny. But Ginny went off to find her friends, and Luna shooed me off to do the same, and so I found my boys. It was actually almost the end of the train ride, and the five of us had been busy catching up and chatting, preparing for the year. Jay had been very interested in _Sollertia Augurium_ , but my pages of notes of translation only went barely a fraction into the thick tome. I was starting to get frustrated with the translation, as I had to do a LOT of guesswork when it came to magical words that the Muggle dictionary wouldn’t have. Ergh.

My voice was muffled by my hand and robe sleeve. “I’m in pain.”

Harper looked like I’d run over his dog. “I’m _so_ sorry, Lys! I can try to-”

“Experimenting with spells isn’t a good idea, Harper,” interrupted Jay apologetically, “Everything you make or create tends to be very dangerous.”

Which was so true, it wasn’t even funny. Harper should honestly talk to the demon twins more often. I’d tell him so after my fucking face didn’t feel like the bones were going to shatter with all these scents stuffed in my head.

Lu’s voice was very congested. “Baybe you should get one ob your books, Lys.”

“I can’t take my hand off my nose,” I answered crossly, “I’ll die. You hear that, Harper? You’ve killed me.”

“I’m sorry, Lys! I’ll make it up to you!”

“You might want the counterspell soon, Lyssie,” Jay said, frowning, “Do you know it?”

I shook my head. My magical spell studies encompassed very specific things in lots of detail: Hogwarts curriculum, Grey-Dark rituals of Celtic origin, and general combat magic. That was… something I’d have to fix. Even if it forced me to get creative, I’d need a better spell library.

“Granger’s a knowledgable witch. Zabini would be good, too.” Dietrich suggested.

I nodded, standing and swaying when the smells shifted through my sleeves. “I’ll find Hermione. She’s got loads of books, there’s got to be something to fix me.”

_Stupid Harper. I’ll have my revenge later._

I cringed as I opened the compartment door, new smells rushing through my weak barrier of cloth and flesh. There was dirt, pond mud, sweat, too-strong perfume, the ozone-like scent of rain. Metal and wood and carpet ingrained with years and years of cleaning magic and a layer of new shoe-prints. The scent of the Burrow on my sleeve, my own salty sweat, iron of the blood underneath. I must’ve made quite the picture, stumbling down the train. We’d gotten a compartment near the end, and if I remembered and Saw correctly, so did the Trio. They were sitting in a compartment with a sleeping professor, in fact.

When I slid their compartment door open, I jerked at the sudden _Wolf running through the forest — dark trees and darker shadows — howling in the background — golden eyes — rat scuttling away between dead leaves — the full moon — black cloaks in the sky — a silver stag-_

_Stop._

_Dark, dark cloth fluttering in the air — frigid, icing over the windows — “Piss off!” — The dog was swimming in the sea, freezing, bones sticking out from his raggedy fur, black ghosts gliding above him obliviously. Black dog, black water, black prison, black ghosts — the train halted, shuddering, arms around her as she shivered and shook — “It’s really cold, it’s really, really cold…”_

_Stop._

“Lys? D’you have a nosebleed or something?”

Hm. Bloody visions were getting sassy again. Coming whenever they wanted to again, like before. After the Chamber incident, I almost felt Sovereign; maybe the magic of the ability had realized I had been in a lot of danger? Gave me a bit of a break. _Now,_ though, it was coming back all Acquiescent. Fucking magic.

Meditation and Occlumency time again. Yay.

I shook my head.

“No, Ron, but Harper — the idiot — managed to make my sense of smell a million times better and I’m getting a headache. _Finite Incantatum_ didn’t work, so please, Hermione, for the love of Merlin, tell me you can fix this somehow.”

Hermione looked at me sympathetically. “Oh, Lys - _Riminatius!_ Did that work?”

I sniffed tentatively. Then I flinched at Hermione’s rather nice-smelling but too-strong shampoo. Oh, and… “Nope. I smell chocolate.”

Hermione looked bewildered. “Chocolate? Er, do you know what spell Harper used?”

“ _Indagus Melius._ ” I muttered unconfidently — maybe that’s what he used, but I’d been talking to Dietrich about the absolute bullshit of translation _Sollertia Augurium_ and braiding Jay’s hair at the same time, so I wasn’t too sure about that.

“Oh, then you’ll need the counter-spell... I think it’s _Meliollo Retex._ ”

Another reluctant sniff. I smiled gratefully and pulled my hand away. “Thanks, Hermione! You’re the best. So, is that our new Defense professor in the corner, then?”

Remus Lupin was, in fact, sleeping in the corner. He looked a little disheveled, thought quite a bit nicer than the werewolves I’ve seen prowling Knockturn Alley. He had smelled like something feral, but clean. His colors, as I flicked them on, were a dark maroon flecked with shining gold, his center a bit more leaning to a cool violet. They were sad, beaten down colors. Dark, probably because he was a werewolf and all that, and sluggish with sleep.

“Pretty colors,” I muttered to myself, pressing down on my core to make the colors shrink and fade until I could only see vague outlines around people. Enough to know they were themselves, but not enough to know anything about them. The Mage Sight thing was getting to be a lot more Sovereign than the Clairvoyance thing, with the help of _The Magick of Man-Hunters._

(Who would’ve thought that so many magical predators had a sort of magical sensing ability? Which is how the earlier natural Soothsayers learned how to make their abilities more useful, way back when.)

Harry glanced over, then shrugged at me. “Seems he must be. He was in here already, and the rest of the compartments were full. Guess he can sleep through anything, we tried to wake him.”

“Anything? Excellent. ‘Scuse, Ron, I’ve been hungry and Harper ate all the trolley things we bought because he’s an idiot.”

The chocolate smell had been coming from the pocket of the coat Lupin was using as a makeshift blanket. My fingers were light and quick as I plucked out one of the many bars inside. Plain milk chocolate, my favorite.

(I’d need this, according to the visions. Dementors, right. Harry Potter’s third year. Yup.)

Hermione looked absolutely _scandalized._ “Lys! You can’t steal from a _professor!”_

Ron gave her a funny look. “Is it the stealing or the professor part you don’t like?”

I was exiting already, having thrown a bit of the bar to Ron, who was now gobbling it down. I gave a helpless shrug. “Looks like I just did. Slytherin, remember? Besides, he’s got lots, and I’ll need it.”

“You’re one to talk, Hermione. You talked _us_ into filching ingredients from Snape, remember?” Ron reasoned as I walked back to my compartment.

Harper had, indeed, eaten most of our sweets. Which meant there was no chocolate left. Which meant that when the stupid fucking dementors waltzed in later, we’d be very unhappy afterwards. Which meant I needed chocolate. Which meant my luck had somehow pulled through and Harper had, the accidental genius he was, given me an excuse to find Lupin and take his chocolates. 

It all worked out rather nicely, but I was still going to strangle Harper for making me go through all that pain. How he’d managed to overpower a tiny charm like that _that much_ was beyond me. Never really fell into my studies, so I hadn’t known how to cancel it. Thank Merlin for Hermione, then.

Harper barreled into me as I slid the compartment door open, and I grunted.

“Harper? What?”

“I’m sorry Lyssie are you alright now please don’t kill me-!!” cried my friend.

“He’s been waiting for you in tears.” Lu explained, his congestion apparently having been fixed while I was away, even if he still looked exhausted with sickness, “He hugged your brother, Prefect Zabini, and almost Malfoy doing that.”

I snapped my gaze to Dietrich, for confirmation. He shrugged. “It was funny. I am thinking we should simply have Harper hug Malfoy whenever he steps up to challenge us — it will get him to back out quickly.” Dietrich said.

“Dietrich, was that a joke? You made a joke! I’m going to write this in my diary!”

He glared at me, having flinched at the word ‘diary’.

I carefully peeled Harper off me and sat down. “Too soon?”

“It will always be too soon.” he muttered irritatedly, “Bloody book.”

_If we had all been born in the 20’s, I have a feeling Tom might’ve made an enemy right away. Dietrich can’t even stand to hear his name._ I thought, feeling a little amused but mostly sorry. Dietrich… did not like to think of it. I know he trained hard during the summer, his family’s pureblood paranoia shooting through the roof, but Dietrich didn’t talk much of it. I think he was… ashamed. Yeah, ashamed; that he’d been taken by a possessed student, that he’d accidentally forced me to pursue him and get injured in the process, etc. Dietrich was…

Incredibly prone to looking at mistakes and responding by punishing himself, while also making himself better. It was almost self-destructive, but gave results just enough to justify sleepless nights and whatnot. Oh god, Dietrich was _becoming me_. 

(That was… a frightening though. Stop thinking about it, Lyssie.)

I had to bat Harper away from me eventually, though. “Harper, gerroff! I’ll get you back later, you idiot, which means when we’re safely ensconced in Hogwarts. Go play poker with Lu and Jay or something.”

Harper was, by the way, one of the best bloody poker players I’ve ever witnessed, let alone played against. Rather than remain stoic, as Dietrich did, he managed to lie the shit out of the game, trick us into assuming his cards and such. Bloody brilliant, really. More surprising than us finding out that Dietrich was actually bollocks at the game, because he just didn’t know what the hell he was doing. Purebloods.

As Harper scooted over to do just that (“I’m going to win again, yeah?” “Shut up, Harper!”) the train shuddered, lights flickering. We all were forced to grab onto the edges of the seats or lean against the walls to keep from toppling on the floor. 

“Bloody hell! What was that? Are we stopping?”

( ** _Fear._** _)_

“It’s gone all dark — Harper, what did you do?”

Oh dear. I hadn’t felt this primally afraid in…

“Why’re you blaming me, I wasn’t even holding my wand! Lu, you’re a prat.”

“Merlin, it’s cold…”

( ** _Fear fear fear._** _)_

“Jay, you’re _wearing your robes._ You- Oh, lookit that, it _is_ cold.”

“Shut up, Harper.”

“Aha! That’s twice already! I’m keeping a tally this time, I will!”

… a very long time. My body was shaking-

“Shut _up_ , Harper. Wait- is someone outside?”

Dietrich reached for the door and I stiffened. “DON’T OPEN IT.” I barked, effectively making him freeze in his tracks and silencing the rest of the compartment. I curled up tighter, feeling cold and knowing they were coming. “Don’t go near the door. They’re out there.”

Jay looked alarmed. “Lys, what’s going on?”

Colder. Colder and colder and colder. Ice on the windows. Shadows on the walls.

( ** _Fear._** _)_

“Dementors,” I whispered, making everyone’s eyes widen, “Dementors on the train, searching for Sirius Black. They’re not going to Kiss anyone, but it’s so _cold…”_

Then it was here.

A figure, gnarled and unnatural, shadowed in the foggy glass. A rotted hand sliding the door open, black hood peering inside. Ice on its putrid breath, shadows in its crumbling robes. I shuddered, remembering _blood and metal and asphalt and fire._ Oh no, oh fuck, I’m a Clairvoyant the fucking things will destroy me- _Hands paling in mine, warm to cold — Tom Riddle smiling as he died — Fred’s empty eyes — The screams of the Longbottoms, the sounds of the Potter’s bodies hitting the floor, the vicious snarls of Death Eaters, Ariana Dumbledore tormented by Muggle boys, Gideon and Fabian Prewett falling,_ I did not bloody think this through, shit, I should’ve learned the fucking Patronus Charm- _Voldemort laughing laughing laughing-_

_Stop._

“Piss off,” I breathed, barely able to with how violently I was shaking, “There’s no Sirius Black here.”

_Trench wars in the early 1900’s, the shot heard around the world, a red flag burning, Gellert Grindewald dueling Albus Dumbledore and laughing maniacally as he cried — the girl lost in the woods — the body buried underneath the tree, the rotted corpse hanging on the gallows as his wife stared and starved and waited._

_Stop._

_“Because I was weak?” — “No, because I was.” — indigo and crimson and splintering, turning pale and glassy and shattering into nothing — the death of a magical core, of a consciousness carried by a book — “Are we friends, Lys?”_

_But you let me die._

_It was you or mine. You weren’t one of mine._

_I could have been._

~~ _You were._ ~~ _I know._

_Stop._

_Gore splattered against a wall, Death Eaters marching on London, kill the spare — Because I was weak, no not at all because I was, Dietrich lying in the Chamber, Muggles tearing apart her magic, magic bound inside his core — it hurt it hurt it hurt oh god help — “Arianna, no!” — Kill the fucking Muggles, kill them all, hurt my child, my daughter, my sister, my friend-_

_Stop._

“SHOVE OFF!” Lu snarled, standing abruptly and placing himself in front of me, his arms spread out to keep the dementor away, “WE DON’T HAVE YOUR BLOODY SIRIUS BLACK, FILTH! GET AWAY FROM US!”

Jay had his hand buried in his hands, rocking back and forth. Dietrich was pale, paler than ice and colder still, looking at the dementor like he could never look away. Harper was scared, but he slid across his seat and shoved his hand in mine, trying to transfer heat — any kind of warmth, anything... Lu was fixated on shielding me if only physically from the monstrous thing, in spite of the tremor in his arms and the shakiness in his voice.

_Broken bones splintering, white shards all over the place — “Run! Run!” she cried, gurgling as it — feet were just blood and torn skin, muscle wasted, blistered over, he couldn’t get away — “I don’t want to die.” — twisted metal and burning rubber and blood pooling underneath, cooling, sticky and copper-scented and — “Someone help me, please, I don’t want to die-” — again-_

_Because you were weak, you’re weak, you are — BROTHER-KILLER, MURDERER! Crimson eyes blinking, blinking, and —_ _Pay lesser witches no mind, Guinevere, not when you are a_ parvus potesta _reigning._

_…You’re kind._

_Only to you._

_Flattery gets you nowhere._

_And neither do petty insults, whispered in the privacy of the loo._

_You’re kind, and you try not to be._

_Slytherins are not kind. Kindness is weakness. Kindness will have you betrayed by your peers, and used by the other Houses. You know this._

_I wanted to make a place where that wasn’t so. I’m not… ‘No good for anything now,’ they said… I need to be much more than anything, for what I want._

_We both know, Guinevere, you don’t always get what you want._

_I try._

_Trying won’t bring your friend back. Tom Riddle is dead, you foolish child. It’s time to stop wallowing._

_Stop._

I thought I was going to go insane.

_“I killed Sirius Black, I killed Sirius Black!” — “I’LL KILL YOU LESTRANGE!” — Bill flying back, red hair streaming out like blood, glinting in the weak light of — “AVADA KEDAVRA!” screamed the masked Death Eater. Bill dodged, green reflected in his eyes — Blood-stained teeth, sharpened, blue eyes luminescent, lunging at the throat, hands clawing into shoulder — Curled in the corner, she wept, tried to press herself into the walls so hard that it hurt. — There is no good or evil-_

_Stop._

Every bad memory you ever had? What if I remembered the entire _world’s_ bad memories?

_Cars smashing into each other, metal bending and twisting and — smell of gasoline, burning rubber, coppery blood, the stench of vomit. Dripping from her mouth, bloody lips and — “Fuck! Someone help me!” she screamed — I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to-_

_STOP!_

“Chocolate in my pocket,” I breathed, “Chocolate. Harper, please-“

_I don’t want to die, I don’t want to- Blindness. Ice flooding my throat-_

_Stop._

It was an hour or maybe several or maybe just a second later that Harper was tilting my head back roughly and shoving my stolen sweets in between my chattering teeth. He’d taken it upon himself to chuck the rest of the bar at Dietrich, whose hands fumbled as he broke it into pieces and he passed it around. The dementor was gone but Merlin knew that I’d just seen all the worst of the world’s past, present, and future in just a few minutes...

Lu squeezed in between me and the window and put an arm around me, trying to warm me up. It was probably a few hours (?) no, no, a minute or so (?) no, definitely a few minutes later when I felt I could move again.

Pale faces had color returned to them, and there was an air of leisurely relaxation that was obviously faked: Dietrich was reading, Lu still had an arm around me but he slumped in his seat sleeping, Harper and Jay were on the floor with a deck of Exploding Snap. But once Dietrich noticed me looking around, he kicked Harper (who yelped), who nudged Jay. They all looked at me. 

“Hm,” my voice rasped weakly, “Th-that was something I never w-want to do again. M-Make a note of it, Dietrich, I’m very, _very_ bad against dementors. I-I don’t quite remember what happened. Did I black out? Wh-Where are we?”

“Nearly at Hogwarts,” he replied softly, “where you will be going to the Hospital Wing immediately.”

I tried to glare but it was a bit weak. Everything felt weak, come to think of it. “I-I don’t need to go to the _Hospital_ Wi-Wing, Dietrich! I’ll sleep it off. I-It was no different than the usual nightmares. Just... er, m-more I guess.”

Lies, of course.

“You can’t even speak properly, Lys.” Dietrich said flatly.

Which Dietrich knew. He seemed to always know when I was lying.

“And you’re shaking. Do you still feel cold?” Jay asked.

I looked at my hands, which were quite visibly unsteady. “Alright... you a-all win this round, bu-but know that I don’t like it! A-At all.”

Harper reached up to hold my hand, blue eyes wide with concern. “You just _stared_ for hours, Lyssie. Shaking and crying and _staring_ , no blinking. It was sort of creepy, but we were mostly worried. Did you want to talk about it?”

They all assumed I had some sorta traumatic thing happen to me before or because of the Chamber, maybe it had something to do with the Mage Sight thing? Maybe dementor’s colors were bad? (I hadn’t looked, I _couldn’t_ have if my life depended on it, with how the memories were drowning me) I mean, I regularly went into Knockturn Alley, I might’ve seen something horrible. I dealt with a cambion every other week, too. There were lots of excuses for something like that.

Harper was still looking at me in concern. They _all_ were, actually.

I managed to chuckle. “M-Maybe later, wh-when I don’t sound like a... like a Weasley v-version of P-Professor Quirrell.”

“Who?” Harper asked.

Ah, right. They didn’t know about the DADA professor before Lockhart. I did, because I did my best to See my brother’s first year, just to keep tabs on the events of the first book. “L-Later.” I said, waving them away.

“We’ll be at Hogwarts soon,” Lu yawned as he woke. His eyes glinted with _something_ , though. Protectiveness? Something. He smirked. “If you want to keep cuddling ’til then, I’ve got no problem with it.”

I gave him a flat stare, but the smug grin on his face had my lips twitching. “Sh-Shut up, Lu.”

“I’ll take your place, Lu, everyone knows I’m more cuddly.”

“Shut up, Harper. Not something to be proud of. Or at least, it won’t be in a few years and you start fancying people or something. Go on and nap, Lys, you deserve it. Bloody buggering beasts, those dementors.”

“C-Couldn’t have said it better myself.

They all made a bloody big deal of it, bringing me to the Hospital Wing straight away; I barely had time to look at the thestrals pulling the carriages for the first time — not that it mattered, Luna and I fed them all the time — before Dietrich dragged me to McGonagall, and we once again met with the Golden Trio. Right, Harry had fainted... his memories _are_ pretty shitty, I mean, he watched his fucking parents die. Even I hadn’t done that.

(Well, maybe I could argue that I watched my brothers die enough, but still. It wasn’t real. Not yet.)

( **_Never_ ** , something in me snarled viciously.)

Anyways, my boys were coddling me to kingdom come. The four of them. I suppose they recovered from their own personal dementor experiences more quickly because they’d seen _me_ , and how _I had been going a little insane_ for a few minutes. I don’t think I could _really_ blame them, though, especially the more emotionally-ruled Harper and Jay: I hadn’t stopped shaking, even after they’d gone to Prefect Zabini for more chocolate, and it was difficult to walk by myself.

But still.

Bloody hell, that was tad embarrassing. Even if it was touching, that my firsties all gathered around me like this.

 

**…**

 

“At least I’m not alone,” I murmured.

Harry nodded. “Malfoy’s not going to let this go, though…”

Because of course, the ponce hadn’t changed at all after the Chamber incident. ( _Which I was… I suppose, glad for, because really, if he came back quiet and traumatized or something, I probably would’ve backed off completely. My responsibility, my fault, my…)_

I sighed, agreeing. “The bleedin’ ponce’ll be making fainting jokes from now ’til summer, I think. I can try to help you out, Harry, I’ve got to keep the stupid git in check this year anyways.”

Harry groaned, lying back in his white, Hospital Wing pillows.

We were Hospital Wing mates, like I told my family. Same bloody beds and everything. Madam Pomfrey took one look at me and confined me to a stay overnight. I’d been rather pleasantly surprised to see Harry, though. Even if we were both surly at being stuck in the damn Hospital Wing again, at least we were going down together.

We chatted back and forth, mostly about much pleasanter subjects (I was _extremely_ touched when Harry said he carried my little wandless magic guide with him everywhere, so he could do the exercises whenever). 

“You should’ve gone to the feast, by the way.” I said during a lull in the conversation.

“Er, what?”

I grinned. “It’s not like I couldn’t hear, Harry. McGonagall almost let you out.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “As if I’d leave you back here. We’re Hospital mates.”

I laughed; seems my friend had a similar vein of thought. “Well, I suppose I’ll be obligated to break some bone or other every time something ridiculous happens to you, Harry.”

“Don’t jinx it. I’d like a peaceful year…”

“Hopefully. Dad warned you about the dementors and Sirius Black, right?” I asked.

Harry had, actually, stayed with us for a bit. Not that I noticed; the boy followed Ron about our home like a lost puppy, only saying quick hello’s and such to me. And I’d been busy agonizing over _Sollertia Augurium_ and getting Percy to take me to Diagon so I could sneak off and see the cambion, which didn’t happen nearly as often as I wished. Anyways, Harry had been pulled aside by Dad at some point — in the Leaky Cauldron, I think? — and I guessed that he was warning Harry about Black, since my Dad considered Harry peripherally one of his, for his connection to Ron.

(Dad was a lot more… private about the me and mine thing. He gave the idea to me, but I expanded it to my friends with ease. Dad… was careful to only let his ferocious, quasi-Dark protectiveness of his extend to his immediate family, and no one else. He was, after all, a Light wizard, my father.)

Harry nodded. “Black was a Voldemort supporter, right? What I don’t get is, why isn’t he going after Voldemort? It’s not like I can do much.”

I frowned. “It’s the symbolism of the thing, I think. A lot of older magic is based on symbolism and ritual, because there’s so much intent to be considered in symbols. Ritualistic magic is usually Dark, though.”

“There aren’t any Light rituals?”

“Rituals are all about the preservation of balance. What you sacrifice in order to gain. Unless you’re sacrificing yourself, it’s Dark. Light magic is all about correcting imbalances to the benefit of others, _or_ sacrificing your magic, blood, etc. for someone else’s sake. Healing and protection, you know?”

Harry thought for a moment. “But… there’s got to be healing spells or shields or something that don’t do that. Right?”

I grinned at him. “Too right. But it’s easier for everyone to sacrifice their magic or themselves, even if they don’t realize it. That’s the thing with Light magic, the intent isn’t really important anymore, which is why it’s weaker. Safer, of course, but weaker. People don’t like hearing that, though.”

“Huh. So… me being a symbol…”

I shrugged. “It’s not that if Sirius Black knifes you that’ll do something immediately. Rituals aren’t that thoughtless. But symbols _are_ important, and Dark wizards and witches understand that more than Light or Grey.”

He nodded. Then he threw a crooked smile my way. “Every time we meet, Lys, you’re always teaching me something. You really like reading, huh? But Hermione doesn’t seem to know any of this stuff, I asked, and she’s a bit more…”

“Ravenclaw-like?” I suggested.

“Bookish, yeah.”

I hummed to myself, looking up at the high ceilings. “Well, I suppose that’s because Hermione’s a Light witch, and she’s more interested in more substantial things. Everything I study is Dark or Grey and magical theory. Advanced magical theory, technically, because I’ve got a Seer ability and those sorts of magicks lead into that.”

“You got a head start, I suppose?” Harry said.

“That, too. Hermione’s playing catch-up, and trying to reconcile differences between Muggle and wizarding worlds. She’ll know all this rubbish in a few years, don’t worry.”

Harry laughed. “Well, until then, I’ve got you.”

I nodded. “Of course, Potter. Doesn’t seem to bother you, I notice, that I’m a Dark witch.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t mean you’re evil, right?”

I blinked at him. Huh. You know, for some reason, I thought everyone would be a bit more prejudiced against Dark-cored people and Slytherins, but… Oh. Oh, right. Well, I suppose this was butterfly effect. The stigma was probably still there, I just wasn’t feeling it, because my entire Light family was all around me. Ron, who was the biggest source of wizarding culture for Harry, didn’t care about Dark or Grey or Slytherin, because I was his sister. The flower crowns I made — a tradition that ended with Ginny and me coming to Hogwarts, unfortunately — were a Grey-Dark ritual, but they all loved it.

I… I don’t know, I was surprised.

But it meant that my presence was worth something, right? No more did the hero of the wizarding world look at Slytherins and think, ‘Voldemort supporters’. Or, maybe he never did in the first place. Snape wouldn’t be his only window into the truth of Slytherin, at least.

(It meant a change. I’d… changed things. That was good. That meant my brothers would be safe…)

I smiled at Harry. “Yeah.” Then I snickered. “Can you imagine me evil?”

Harry grimaced. “From watching you go against a basilisk, I really hope that never happens.”

“What? I wasn’t even the one that killed it!” I laughed. I peered at his arm, the one that had been stabbed with the fang. “You’re alright, aren’t you? The basilisk venom and whatnot, it looks like you earned a scar or a hundred.”

Harry blinked, then rolled up his sleeve a little, for my benefit. It obviously wasn’t bloody or anything, but it looked as fresh as the day he’d gotten bit. The scar was sharp and darkly discolored, and the veins spreading out around it were darkened, the blue and greens standing out at the edges and darkening as it approached the round-ish scar. It was like a black sun took root in his veins and arteries. He smiled a little. 

“It doesn’t hurt, if that’s what you’re asking. No one’s ever really survived a basilisk bite, so Madam Pomfrey wasn’t sure if this was normal or not, but I think it’s faded a bit since.” he said, shrugging.

Did anyone else find it odd that Harry never went to St. Mungo’s for all his crazy shit? What the fuck, Alby? Then again… the hospital meant a certain loss of privacy, as it was a government institution, and information going to the government meant information going to Malfoy Sr. 

“Huh. Well, I wouldn’t remember, I was loopey as hell when you were bit.”

Harry snorted. “I remember. You kept conjuring bees, did you know?”

I grinned. “I remember something of the sort.” Harry rolled his sleeve back down. “Hey, at least your scar is wicked-looking. Even if no one believes you about the basilisk, they’ll think it was some sort of poisoned knife, which is just as interesting.”

He looked away, shrugging. Uncomfortable, I think. 

“All I’ve got to do is brush my bangs away a little bit, and everyone thinks I’m interesting,” my friend muttered.

Definitely uncomfortable. 

I frowned, a little guilty. Didn’t mean it like that. “Hey. Don’t worry about it, Harry. You _are_ quite a character, you know? Not everyone would’ve gone down to the Chamber to drag Malfoy’s pompous arse back out.”

Harry laughed a little. “And Bastion, can’t forget him.”

“Yeah, and for a firstie you didn’t even know. I dunno if I ever thanked you, but really. Thanks. For… for trying to get him out. I don’t know what I’d do without that kid.” I said hesitantly, feeling embarrassed.

“Anyone would’ve done it.” Harry replied automatically.

I raised a brow. “Not Lockhart. And not really. Don’t sell yourself short, Potter. I’m having a _moment_ here.”

“Oh, were you? Sorry, continue.”

“Want me to sing you a poem or something? I’ll ask Ginny if she has any copies of that one she wrote last year…”

Harry choked on his own laughter. “Ergh, no! Just- No. Don’t. Lys, don’t.”

I grinned. Here, this was where I was comfortable. Teasing and banter. Must easier than heart-to-hearts and whatnot. “His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toaaaaad…” I started, trying to remember the rest.

Harry was trying to withhold his laughter. “Lys, stop!”

“Erm… hair as… black as a blackboard, I think? Shite, I’ve forgotten… Malfoy wouldn’t stop singing it for two days, all of Slytherin knew the bloody song…”

Hah. A night spent chatting about stupid things and magical theory and wandless magic, and trying to pretend we were asleep when Madam Pomfrey walked around. Feasting on chocolate and comparing textbooks (“All you had to do was stroke the spine, Harry. Honestly.” “What? Why didn’t you say so earlier!?”).

Despite the dementor thing, it was a good start to the year.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In my defense, I just woke up. But... Here's the long-awaited chapter! Sorry about the skip last week, but I really did have to edit a bunch. For this chapter: a new OC, a bunch of fucking Slytherin politics, a dash of Luna and Ginny, and more politics. Slytherins, I tell you. :)
> 
> Here's celebrating an actual shit-ton of kudos/comments/bookmarks! :D Thank you all very much for reading these past few months! :) I hope you enjoy this chapter.

 

**…**

 

All I could do was roll my eyes as Malfoy was talking nastily about Harry’s black-out from yesterday. He was entertaining quite a few of his own year, some fourth-years, and a gaggle of sixth-years led by Derrick and Bole. 

(This was undeniable proof, wasn’t it? Malfoy must’ve been in correspondence with Zabini the younger, who was hanging around… Which means he knows we’ve got a clean slate. And this is what he does, first thing off? Provoke my friends and allies? The little shit didn’t change at all.)

(I… I didn’t know whether I was relieved or disappointed. Maybe a bit of both.)

I suppose we, on our own, made quite the picture as well: us second-years (though I still loving called them my firsties) walking past him quite purposefully and imperiously. I think Lu even curled his lips in a grimace — like he happened across some particularly disgusting garbage — and I _know_ I saw Harper give a condescending smile.

Malfoy might have irritated me with pretending the entire Chamber thing didn’t happen — no gratitude, no change in character, what the fuck?! — but… well… Oh, I was _so_ proud of my firsties.

“Hey, Potter!” called the shrill voice of Pansy Parkinson, as I’d been halfway through my favorite buttered toast, “Potter! The dementors are coming, Potter! Woooooooo!”

It was — to my gleeful surprise — _Dietrich_ who said with an air of the haughty pureblood he would’ve been (without my presence), “Impressive, I think, how I am continuously disappointed by the intelligence of our House-mates.” 

It was made _perfect_ because of the French accent.

Abruptly, the jeering stopped. Malfoy’s group turned to us, Malfoy with composed, cold eyes and Parkinson with an unsightly blotch of red on her face.

Lu chuckled, and the contemptuousness of the sound made me want to break into hysterical laughter — he was copying how _I_ sounded when I spoke to that camp. “Now, that’s not very fair, Dietrich. You can’t look at Parkinson and _not_ be disappointed.”

“How _dare_ you, bloodtrai-”

“Careful, Parkinson,” interrupted Jay, his voice calm and low, “The Vaiseys won’t stand for such an insult to their line, second son or not. Someone will speak up for them if you finish that word, hm? And Edward Vaisey is, without a doubt, a better dueler than Lyssie is. And we all know how _that_ duel went, now… don’t we?”

A shiver. _Merlin_ , Jay was scary when he went all ‘I’m-smiling-but-there’s-a-knife-behind-my-back-right-now’ mode.

All I could think of that prompted my boys’ sudden aggressive behavior would be... oh. Right. Okay, so Malfoy’s people were making fun of Harry for his reaction to dementors, so they all remembered _my_ reaction to dementors. If Malfoy had bothered to stop in on us yesterday, he’d be mocking _me_ to my face. 

As it was, my firsties had made sure that the rumor mill believed my Hospital Wing stay to be due to accidental injury caused by Harper’s normal idiocy. Not unbelievable, with how much he fucked up on a daily basis. (Seriously, though, everything he did somehow had the potential to be weaponized.) I had decided to hold off on avenging my nose because Harper had happily taken the mickey for that in public.

Anyways, there was also the fact that the boys followed Dietrich’s lead if they weren’t following mine, and Dietrich felt he owed Harry for the Chamber thing last year. (And Malfoy _conspicuously_ dismissed it... A mistake I would _not_ be emulating, as a life debt from the little shit could very well save Harry’s life later.)

Malfoy took in our cool countenances, hesitating. This was the part where he got all fired up and we traded barbed words… But alas, he seemed to have learned _something_ from last year, because he merely glanced at me and Dietrich — perhaps any gratitude was reserved purely for the Slytherin part of his rescue? — then gave a jerky nod. He looked at Parkinson pointedly.

“Shut it. We’ve got class.” he sneered.

Hm. I’d have to figure out where we stood, if he was going to be so… half-arsed about this. Was he grateful or dismissive? He couldn’t just ignore Harry’s part in the Chamber, but somewhat remember mine… could he?

Shit. He totally could. Purebloods were all delusional.

But Malfoy and his left without any further trouble, very careful to adhere to the presentation of unity. I myself felt very satisfied in even a small victory, as it hadn’t really been mine — I hadn’t spoken at all, in fact. My firsties had gotten the win themselves. We settled down to the rest of our breakfasts peacefully, and I spotted Dietrich and Harry exchanging significant nods.

Smiling to myself, I knew that the two were too different to really be friends, but they at least seemed to be on amiable terms now.

Dietrich reached over and plucked my disguised _Sollertia Augurium_ from its place next to my toast. He thumbed through the (extremely thin) section I’d translated, the loose pages of parchment bound to the pages they corresponded to, stretching out from the margins with a tap of the wand. _That_ fucking spell had been _such_ a pain to come up with, I’d actually needed Dad’s help for it. Some mixture of an Undetectable Extension Charm, a _Revelio_ , an _Aparecium,_ and a lot of wandless shit.

Which I explained to Dietrich and Jay when they asked, poking at the pages.

“See, it’s like the page unfolds out, and then the writing appears? That was the Revealing Charm, but I bastardized it, and-”

“And we’re going to be late to classes, you know.” Jay said gently.

We all craned our heads to look at Dietrich’s watch. He threw us all annoyed glances.

“I am going to have to buy you all watches, aren’t I?” Dietrich sighed.

Lu shrugged. “I’ve broken every single one I’ve owned.”

Harper nodded. “Me too.”

“Yes, but in Lu’s case, he probably tries to punch quaffles with his wrist, and you probably accidentally make yours explode while you’re adjusting the time.” I said, standing and starting out of the Great Hall for potions.

“Lyssie, how’d you know?” Lu asked, grabbing extra toast for me.

I gave him a grateful smile and took what was offered. “Who’s been the one patching your bruises up after you and Harper try to kill each other on brooms?”

“Er…”

“What? I’d never try to kill Lu!”

“Shut up, Harper.”

Harper pouted a little. He bounced right back, our little favorite idiot, but still. I slunk my arm around Harper’s, grinning. “Wanna partner up for potions, Harper?”

He smiled, nodding fervently.

Dietrich, Jay, and Lu all went paper-white.

“Dear Merlin, they’re going to kill someone.”

“YOU TWO ARE NOT ALLOWED TO PARTNER UP IN ANY CLASS, EVER!”

“ _Pourquoi est-ce ma vie?”_

 

**…**

 

Oho. Well this was an interesting situation.

He wasn’t going to speak first. It was very dramatic, how he was standing in the shadows behind me. But Mage Sight did have its uses, and even flipping through _Sollertia Augurium_ and translating, I knew someone wandered into my favorite corner of the Slytherin common room. 

My firsties were bonding over another trip to Madam Pomfrey’s after _another_ Quidditch accident (honestly, it was the first day back, what the hell were they doing?? …wait, I know the answer: Lu was practicing like mad for the Quidditch try-outs… yeah, that would do it) and I refused to return to her domain more than I had to. 

Waiting for them in our dark, comfortable corner in a mostly-empty common room had led to me being stalked.

I smiled to myself. “Did you know that Helvynya Prevett invented sleeping Legilimency? Otherwise known as dream-walking. Merlin, she was a scary woman. I’m only in her very early childhood, but she mentioned it.”

“ _Sollertia Augurium_ is one of the most banned texts in Britain.” said a smooth, but young voice.

I chuckled to myself. Gave off a careless-but-competent air, even as I wondered whether my precious book was _actually_ going to be taken away from me. That’d be really… really bad. “Are you going to tell on me?”

“No,” came a sigh. And then a weight shifted on my couch, and there was a boy sitting beside me, body slouched across the couch, legs lifted onto the coffee table. He shifted to meet my eyes, expression confident. “There’s no point to that.”

I carefully made sure I didn’t grit my teeth. 

“Nathaniel Wilkes.” I greeted neutrally.

Behind his frameless glasses, black eyes narrowed a little as he smiled. “Guinevere Weasley.”

Even sitting, I could tell that the boy was taller than any of us firsties, about as tall as Ron was, actually. But he was much thinner, his face all angles and sharp edges, skin almost sickly pale. Very dark hair hung down his long, solemn face, which was just pretty enough for one to overlook the rather sinister smile, if one was an idiot. His colors were very, very Dark. A very deep scarlet, about as dark as my own crimson edges — as Dark as these colors I’d inherited from a fucking _baby_ _Dark Lord_ , hello — dominated most of his colors; it moved deliberately, like mist, creeping around my indigo-crimson, probing my inky magic.

(For weaknesses, maybe.)

There were very few people that I was cautious around at first sight. Nathaniel Wilkes was one.

“What do you want?” I asked my Slytherin year-mate.

(One of the half I hadn’t gathered to my side. He, Sebastian Flint, and Edwin Rosier still followed Malfoy around. It was… acceptable, I thought, though I was always quietly concerned for Harper, who roomed with them.)

“To do well in school, marry my intended, and carry on the name of Wilkes. Like all proper purebloods, of course,” said Wilkes with a little laugh. He pushed up his glasses. “What do _you_ want, Guinevere Weasley?”

I smiled thinly. Sassy little brat. “To translate my book, I think.”

Wilkes laughed, then. Fuck, I hated this dodgy-politics-bullshit, especially when I wasn’t prepared beforehand. Gimme a nice duel or a good session of insulting banter or whatever, and I’d be perfectly happy. This? This was plain annoying, and I felt like I was standing in a minefield; one wrong step and it’d blow up in my face. Wilkes was an actually dangerous opponent, especially since he could cause quite a bit of damage.

(And he had. Dietrich would have been _driven away from Hogwarts_ because of this boy. Harper and Lu would’ve been damn _idiots_ , easily-manipulated little puppets that were no better than Crabbe and Goyle _because of this boy._ Jay would never speak his mind, never be proud of his gentle qualities even if they were a bit too feminine to ignore _because of Wilkes._ )

(He was a _threat_ to me and mine, and I disliked being blindsided like this. He never gave indication of hostility towards me, of even noticing my existence, so…)

“So? What do you actually want? It’s not like you’d need tutoring like Lu or Harper. And I actually think you _like_ tearing people to shreds mentally, so you’re not like Jay, either.” I said conversationally, looking at the odd emptiness of the common room.

Hm. Somehow he’d gotten a private meeting with me. Hmmmmmm. Suspicious.

“No, I’m actually a little like you, Weasley, aren’t I? You like tearing people to shreds, too.”

I closed my book. No use trying to concentrate if I had a snake at my throat. “It’s a little fun, yeah,” I admitted, _As long as I’m tearing enemies apart, and not mine, of course…_ “Really, Wilkes, what do you want? Arranging a nice secret meeting in the rare chance I’m alone in the commons.” I smirked. “Are you going to confess?”

Wilkes snorted. “ If you’d like me to, I certainly can.”

My smirk widened into something a bit more real. “I demand it in sonnet form.”

Back and forth, banter. See, that was something I could do. Dancing around each other, playing coy (intentionally), being passive-aggressive — I could _do_ it, but I really just would rather get straight to the point. Bloody Gryffindors, they ruined me. Growing up surrounded by people you’d die to keep alive, by people who’d kill for you if they truly had to, and _knowing_ that… Well, it was weird to adjust to Slytherin again, after a summer of that. And no firsties in sight.

(They made me a better Slytherin. If I knew they were behind me, there was no choice but to go forward, right?)

Okay, but the banter was helpful. He was… hostile, not exactly, that much I could tell already, with that tiny exchange. Peaceful colors, no insults that were so bad that I couldn’t look past them (*cough cough Malfoy*). And really, banter was… fun. 

I didn’t know what Wilkes wanted, but it was… interesting. Of all the boys, only Dietrich would mouth back at me like this. Harper was too kind and sometimes sarcasm and wit flew over his head; Lu got bored and just wanted to go flying (Quidditch nut); Jay would smile a little and expertly change the subject to something easier.

Don’t get me wrong, they were all good lads. But in the same way I liked getting into little snarling fests with Malfoy — not because I liked the little fuck, but because it was _amusing_ — I was enjoying Wilkes.

Huh. That’s dangerous. I like people really easily. Shit. I mean, that was made obvious by me _accidentally befriending a Horcrux_ , but geez. I had to plug up _that_ particular weakness; fuck, I was a rubbish Slytherin alone.

“Tell me, Weasley,” Wilkes said after a quiet lull, “does your family know you’re Dark?”

“I’m a bloodtraitor, Wilkes.”

He smiled a Cheshire grin. “Ah, but you _are_ Dark. It’s fun to pick people apart, right? You like conquering. You like _winning._ Do your bloodtraitor brothers know how easily you threatened to snap Parkinson’s bones?”

My Occlumency shut down on any sort of enjoyment I was feeling. I felt myself ice over. “I warn you now, Wilkes,” I said softly, “You’ve already hurt me and mine. Touch my brothers or my sister, and I will make life very difficult for you.”

Wilkes’s lips curled. “A poor attempt at a veiled threat.”

I laughed coldly. “Veiled? As if I care. Touch me or mine, Wilkes, and I’ll _fucking_ end you.”

He blinked, and then studied me for a moment. The piercing gaze from behind his glasses had unnerved more than one Slytherin as far as I’d seen, but I was goddamn serious. My firsties were snakes, and they’d be able to handle themselves _now_ , but my siblings wouldn’t be able to handle Wilkes’ caustic tongue and sharp intelligence and keen eyes. (Ginny especially… Ginny, who reacted so easily and acted on emotion… Percy, maybe, whose pride was comparable to a Slytherin and wouldn’t be able to handle Wilkes’ insults…)

This boy cut people apart, performed vicious “pranks” and reduced Dietrich into a _mess_ last year. Now that I knew Dietrich as well as I knew Luna, I knew that was a lot. My Second was an Occlumens and had been trained to be a pureblood lord since he was _born._ He took that very seriously, and for Wilkes to have cracked his calm mask in a little over a few weeks, first-year status notwithstanding…

Wilkes was dangerous, and dangerous things were _dealt with_ if they tried to come near my family.

“Well?” I asked, not liking his observant silence.

Wilkes broke out into a rather creepy smile. It was definitely on purpose. “In one week, Malfoy plans to start debasing you. Anything to make you look bad, so no one looks to you. He’s bullied the first-years already, but it would be very simple to get them to support you. Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, and Daphne Greengrass might stand aside, but Nott respects you well enough. Most of Slytherin does, because there is no way the new scar on Potter’s arm is anything but dangerous, and he’s told his House that you helped him kill the creature that made it.”

I frowned suspiciously. “And what price am I paying for this information?”

“I’m not an idiot, Weasley. You’re poised to take Malfoy down. The arrogant child believes you too Gryffindorish to use the Life Debt, which I suppose is true, so he thinks if he reaffirms his position but treats you courteously this month, all will be well. But you won’t be satisfied with that… right?”

Ah, so that was Malfoy’s game. Well, then.

“Surprise, surprise, Wilkes. It was never my intention to take the _parvus potesta_. But I suppose, since I can, I will. I’ll certainly treat my snakes better than he does. And it’s a pain, to be dodging Tripping Jinxes and hiding my things behind shitey wards all the time.”

Wilkes chuckled. “The sixth-years are very impatient.”

I nodded. Damn pranks weren’t devastating — I _lived with the demon twins,_ nothing was devastating at this point — but the sixth-years were persistent. 

“Bole and Derrick, I know.” Then I blinked at him, wondering how on earth he managed to shut down the common room entrance for this long. Ten minutes wasn’t that much, I realize, but still. “So? You never answered. What do you want, Wilkes?”

“Don’t be thick, Weasley,” Wilkes said with just a smidge of irritation, “Just… don’t forget that I helped. And that I can still help.”

“Ah. You want to ride my proverbial coat-tails. How Slytherin.”

“Not just that. I’ve watched how you operate, Weasley. When you rise, I want to be treated well. I, of course, can give you everything on every enemy you’ve made in exchange. I was one of them. Wouldn’t it be a boon to know how Malfoy duels now, since his father has groomed and polished him to competence over the summer?”

I narrowed my eyes, watching Wilkes. He wasn’t asking for non-aggression when I tore Malfoy from his throne, he was asking for a place in my court, to complete the analogy. On my say-so, my firsties would be grudgingly fine with taking Wilkes into our group, because they trusted me and understood the implications of having a resource as clever and devastating as him. But call me Gryffindorish, it didn’t sit right with me that the tormentor of my boys would get away scotch-free, just because he had what I wanted.

My boys deserved more than that. The people I called me and mine deserved everything in the world.

“I don’t know what you did to set up this private meeting, but you’ll be slipping away again.” I said, voice hard and eyes narrowed, “You’re going to meet me in the abandoned classroom a corner-turn away from Snape’s office. You’re going to meet all of us. And if the first words from your mouth aren’t a polite apology, I have never needed anything other than what I have, to steal a throne from a stupid prat.”

Wilkes twitched, paused, and then — very slowly and jerkily — nodded. “Not so heavy a price, compared to what I definitely would have done, were our roles reversed.”

Were our roles reversed, Wilkes would’ve been a monster. I have no doubt about it. If I disliked him more than I already did, as part of the consequence of messing with mine, I might’ve easily been that monster, too. I was Dark, after all, and I did so like destroying threats.

I grinned, and it was more like a baring of my teeth. “Pleasure doing business with you, Wilkes.”

He smiled, no teeth showing, but still managed to mirror my own passive hostility. “I have a feeling our business is far from concluded, Weasley.”

 

**…**

 

“Bloody political machinations.” I muttered.

Next to me, Ginny giggled. “You like being a Slytherin, though. Admit it!”

I smiled into my book, which was covering my face. “Sure, sure.”

It wasn’t hot — this far up north coupled with memories of the Mojave desert made it impossible for me to call this sunny weather _hot_ — but it wasn’t humid, either, despite Ginny and I sitting on a tree near the lake, so it was good. The grass was longer here than at home, more wild and thick with how much magic Hogwarts was giving off, and it was also softer. Luna was ankle-deep in the lake, looking for particularly shapely pebbles to offer to the dabberblimps.

So early into the school year, and I was already tired and in need of a break from Slytherin. Those came in many forms: the demon twins, writing to Percy and my other older brothers, exploring the forest with Luna, and now, chatting with Ginny. She herself sometimes needed a break from her Gryffies, she had admitted to me; as much as she liked them, it was sometimes odd for her to interact with girls who weren’t as thoughtful and quiet as I was. Or so she said. I took it as the compliment she didn’t mean to say, of course.

There was a loud SPLASH! and Luna squealed, and I forced myself up to see if she was alright.

“Luna?” I called.

“This one, Guinevere! The dabberblimps will love it!” Luna said delightedly.

I grinned at her while Ginny snorted. She and Luna weren’t particularly friendly — to my sighing worry — but they interacted politely enough. Ginny used to be annoyed with Luna’s oddities, which I suppose was understandable for a child who couldn’t comprehend why their friend was suddenly different. But now she felt somewhat bemusingly amused at Luna, and seemed to think she was still a very sweet and gentle soul underneath the odd. Luna, for her part, remembered Ginny fondly and their childhood friendship wistfully, and treated Ginny — as she treated most everyone — with amiable politeness.

“You would know best, Luna.” Ginny responded with a slight smile.

“Luna, you should make a book of all the creatures these plebeians don’t believe in.” I laughed, tucking _Sollertia Augurium_ — which still was glamoured to look like _The Monster Book of Monsters_ , complete with growling and everything — into my bag.

Then I stripped off my robes, rolled up the sleeves, and starting peeling off my sneakers and the thigh-high socks (decorated with flying pigs, because _Luna)_ so I could join Luna in the water. The spot we’d commandeered was popular because this was one of the few sections of the lake that was beachy rather than muddy or rocky, and the sand sifted between my toes as I waded over. A splash behind me told me Ginny was joining us, probably with a fond roll of her eyes, and for a while we simply marveled at odds and ends we scavenged from the water.

Ginny was glancing around, and she looked sorely disappointed by the amount of people wandering about the grounds. I knew for a fact she was thinking about our childhood summers at the river and the pond, where I’d wandlessly start water fights and made bubbles of water float in the air for her and my brothers’ amusement.

I smirked at her obvious longing. “No wandless with this many witnesses, dear sister.” I tutted.

A red brow rose. “Wouldn’t you like to be thought of as powerful, if you’re about to beat that blonde ponce’s arse?”

“Keep your cards close to your chest, Ginny,” I said wryly, “because you’ll never know when you’ll need them later.”

_Crimson eyes and pale skin and a smile that stretched too wide, long fingers stroking a black-scaled snake lovingly-but-not. He did not know how to love — the chance passed long ago — crimson and indigo and black and silver and — “We are alike, you and I…” came the hiss, the promise._

_Stop._

I knew when I would need them, later.

Ginny had that tense look that told me she knew I started Seeing. It was full of promise and protectiveness, her fingers twitching, like she was just stopping herself from bundling me up in blankets and hugs and hiding me away. My whole family got like that, and it was cute as hell. The fluffy warmth breathing into my chest was familiar, and no less beloved for it.

I gave her a reassuring grin. “Just a dizzy spell, Gin.”

She nodded slowly, still a little unsure. I didn’t blame her; after the Chamber last year, our _first year_ , she and everyone else were cautious with me.

Luna cut in cheerfully, “You’ve added a new member to your swarm!”

I blinked at Luna’s non-sequitur , frowning. “What?”

“The shadow on the wall.” Luna explained, rather unhelpfully.

My frown deepened. Who did I know who… Oh. “You mean Wilkes? Oh, Luna, he’s… on probation. I haven’t been able to arrange when he’ll be apologizing, but if my swarm doesn’t accept him, it’s not growing.”

Luna smiled knowingly. “Wrackspurts are making your brain go fuzzy.”

I sighed. “Damn, and I’ve been trying so hard to keep them away and everything.”

My silvery friend laughed. “The more you try to keep them from you, Guinevere, the more they’ll flock! It’s natural, you know. Dark or Light or anything in between, bees are drawn to the brightest flowers.” She skipped in the water towards me, and gently tugged on a lock of my coppery-red hair. “And you are very, very bright.”

I blinked, giving Luna a helpless smile. “You’re going to make me blush, you know.”

Luna beamed. “Red and red and red again. It suits you, Guinevere.”

_Red pouring out of Bill’s ravaged throat — faded blue eyes — sobbing silvery-blue, pale hair, manicured hands clutching into blood-crusted robes —_ “Mon adoré, mon adoré, ne me quitte pas…” _she cried out._

_Red pouring out of George’s face, blackening skin, thrashing limbs, pain — “Is he going to be okay? Is he going to be okay?” — wand pointed, flick, jab, slash through the air, snarling voice —_ “Sectumsempra!”

_Red pouring out of Fred’s veins, arms covered in it, crushed heart, squished lungs, shattered ribs like shrapnel — “You’re joking, Perce!” — delighted blue eyes, grinning mouth, angled towards the broken sky filled with smoke and magic and — “FRED! NO!”_

_Stop._

Hands were wrapped around my wrist. I blinked in surprise.

“Ginny?”

That hard, tense look. Worry in her eyes. Fear. Pity. Sympathy. Those things. Oh, and love, too. Always that. Even when she was angry, there was always that, pulsing in her colors. “Have you been meditating?” she asked.

I gave a faint smile. “I’ve been trying. It’s been a chaotic few days.”

Luna nudged my shoulder with hers, and there were ripples in the water as she did. “It’s the number twelve, you know. That’s a powerful number.”

True. Very true. Ginny and I turned twelve only a few weeks ago, and until I was mind-fucked by dementors, I’d been Occluding and meditating often, since _Sollertia Augurium_ required a lot of mental fortitude. (Translation, for fuck’s sake, I can’t believe I was afraid of it.) Then school was a thing, and I had to cut back down to my first-year meditation schedule, which was a half-hour before bed and nothing more.

I think I figured it out. “Mm, I have to adjust. I’ll have to tell Alby.”

The shaking in my hands was gone. I hadn’t even realized it was there, steadied by the warm fingers of my twin. She very slowly started to guide us to shore, Luna linking her arm with mine and Ginny’s hand still delicately wrapped around my wrist. She could probably feel my heartbeat, echoing through that artery.

On shore, our feet were coated with sand and I had to tap my wand on all of our toes to smooth and dry them. My indigo was gentle as I waved my wand and murmured spells, as if it was trying to make up for my distress. 

God, how I loved _The Magick of Man-Hunters._ One of the first things I learned how to do was limit my Mage Sight extremely, drawing a boundary around me; I couldn’t hear the golden song of Hogwarts, which while lovely, was extremely distracting. Now, all I felt was myself, Luna, and Ginny.

(I owed that cambion quite a bit. The blood and memories were entirely worth it.)

 

**…**

 

Our favorite abandoned classroom was just a bit away from Snape’s favorite dungeons, for many reasons. The first was that Snape, being the good Slytherin Head of House that he was, didn’t care about what we did as long as we didn’t get caught and it wasn’t too morally apprehensible. The second was, based on the first, that meant if we had any questions or whatever, we could go to him; which we’d done, last year, though I normally liked sending Harper or Lu just because they annoyed Snape the most and they loved that he never punished them because he seemed oddly soft on me, and he was well aware that they belonged to me.

There was also the fact that I warded the shit out of that classroom, making it rather safe, and we actually treated it like our own personal common room. Some of the empty cupboards were filled with the boys’ things: snacks for Harper and Lu, Jay’s drawing paper and charcoal, Dietrich’s favorite books and some of the knick-knacks we gave him for his birthday and Christmas last year, my journals filled with profiles and notes and such…

Anyways, it was ours, since we didn’t have a safe place in the common room with our being on the outs with the current _parvus potesta_ , so the abandoned classroom was where we just… went. When the common room was filled with people who were on orders to make life hard for us, or at least a little uncomfortable, it was where we hid away. (Not that hiding too much was advisable; we had to project ourselves as threats, so we _did_ go to the commons and the Great Hall and such, often.)

I knew my boys were there already, and as I’d been leaving Potions, I saw Wilkes slip away. Likely we’d all talk about our next move, I’d get them all caught up and such, right now. So I followed quietly, giving Ginny’s hand a squeeze — she was perceptive, my sister, knowing that something was up when most of my year-mates disappeared and I looked a bit more grim-faced that usual — to reassure her.

Only, as I turned the corner to follow after Wilkes, there was someone else waiting for me.

I narrowed my eyes at the sight.

“Zabini.” I greeted cautiously.

The dark-haired boy nodded imperiously. “Weasley.” He took in my squared shoulders, my hand twitching towards my wand, hidden under my skirt. “It’s not a trap. I asked Wilkes if he knew a time I might speak with you; _only_ speak.”

Well, then. Nice of Wilkes to let me know, and make sure I didn’t think he was backstabbing me.

Then again, Zabini — Blaise, that is — had been pretty neutral lately, no doubt because of Josephine, so I supposed I shouldn’t have reacted as strongly? Ah, it isn’t as if Blaise Zabini would be offended that I thought of him as a threat. That was a rather nice compliment, honestly. Dismissiveness was much more insulting in Slytherin; probably life in general, too.

I relaxed just a little. “What, then? I have things to do.”

Zabini looked over his shoulder, at the shut door that was separating us and my boys, plus WIlkes. It was an open secret, that my camp made often occupied this particular room. Just as it was an open secret that I was an amateur Warder, and my brother was a Cursebreaker.

(No one bothered our shit, not after I actually kicked Parkinson’s arse for stealing a diary.)

“I felt it would be in our best interests to clarify something,” replied Zabini.

I raised a brow in response.

Zabini sighed. “Draco isn’t… Weasley, do meet expectation and not capitalize on this cruelly, won’t you?”

Capitalize on this cruelly, for fuck’s sake. Zabini got more polished this summer, it seems. A bit more stuffy, too.

I nodded, not wanting to piss off a hopefully neutral entity. “There are lines in my world, Zabini. As long as you don’t cross mine, I’m not the type to cross yours. Please make sure that Malfoy and Parkinson know that, won’t you?”

“Draco understands that, Weasley. He’s a pureblood heir, not an idiot.”

“But Parkinson.”

Zabini sighed again, dropping that dash of defensiveness I’d drawn out with Malfoy’s name. They really were good friends, those two, weren’t they? “Pansy is… learning. She’s not an heir; she’s not even a firstborn.”

“Spoiled, then.” I muttered, annoyed. I hadn’t known Parkinson had siblings, but that explained a little more about her naively superior mindset. For a moment, I felt a little _bad_ for Malfoy, being (probably) betrothed to that idiotic bitch.

“Spoiled. But that isn’t the issue at hand,” said Zabini, “I’d just like you to know that Draco hasn’t forgotten what you did for him last year. He simply… has been persuaded not to do anything about it, along with actually not knowing what to do about it. It’s not quite a Life Debt, but he does understand he owes you something.”

I smiled very, very sweetly. Emulating Jay. “Do tell dear, dear Draco that I appreciate his efforts to show me his gratitude.”

Zabini’s slight twitch of the lips betrayed his underlying amusement. He shook his head. “He will be kinder, you know. He’s already trying not to provoke you as much this year, and it will only be better if you would back down, stop trying to challenge him.”

“But my family is fair game?” I asked, thinking of how Malfoy was teasing my brother, and Harry.

“You can’t expect him to drop everything to curry your favor, Weasley.”

I twitched. But I nodded. “Yes, I know that. I’m just… irritated. Irrationally, really, because I know what sort of person Malfoy is. Ignore me.” I sighed. I looked up at Zabini. “Listen. You’re… always trying to patch things up for Malfoy, aren’t you? Trying to explain him to me so I don’t cross those lines, right? Oh, don’t look at me like that- Playing on the emotions and morality of a Gryffindor-raised kid, that’s a sound tactic. I get it.”

“You’re giving the game away, Weasley.” Zabini said, smiling lightly but looking tense.

I shrugged. “I don’t really care. Learning about my… competitors, in any way, can only help. I have my boys to temper out my Gryffindor impulses. But anyways, Zabini, I understand that you’re trying to stop me from challenging him, yeah? Well, I can’t.”

“He can lessen the pressure on you.”

“The sixths will still hate me. The fifths will join in on whatever prank is up next. The firsts will grow up learning from them. And our _potesta_ will still suffer, because Malfoy doesn’t _know_ how to lead, and you haven’t yet convinced your cousin to teach him — and you probably never will, if it’s been this long and it’s gotten this bad.”

Zabini’s eyes glinted. “You’re challenging him.”

“Eventually,” I lied casually, “But I know he went through a hell of a lot of training over the summer, just as Dietrich did. I’m not moving until I know I can win, Zabini.”

He relaxed minutely at that, and really… that meant whatever Wilkes told him, Zabini didn’t know he was a traitor. He probably hadn’t seen Wilkes enter my domain, which was…

A very, very good sign. Props to Wilkes, the sneaky bastard.

“You understand I’ll have to warn Draco about that.”

I snorted. “Whatever, Zabini. I’d do the same. Dietrich would do the same. I’m not a bloody moron, you know.”

He smiled a little, taking a step or two away. “I’ve always thought it was a shame Draco made an enemy of you so quickly. If you had taken him under your wing the way you took your second-years? You and I, being a Second pairing?”

Haha. The ‘what if I’d been born into a Death Eater family instead’ gimmick, huh? That’s… honestly a scary thought. I was already quite a ruthless little fucker, for being a twelve-year-old girl born into a Light family. If whatever crazy protective instincts I had latched onto a Death Eater family and not mine?

_Yeah… Can you imagine me evil?_ I asked Harry, once.

If I was, like… Crabbe’s little sister. And I kept dreaming about his death via Fiendfyre. Or something like that, and then I got really crazy and Dark and… Fuuuuuck. That was a horrible thought. Nope.

“I can’t imagine Malfoy would ever have _not_ provoked the Slytherin Weasley.” I said, instead of betraying my musings on the whimsicality of reincarnation.

Zabini chuckled. “See you around, Weasley. It’s refreshing, that you listen _before_ dismissing ideas out of hand.”

“Careful, Zabini. Your bitterness is bleeding through.”

He waved me off and then turned the corner, disappearing.

One hurdle down, another one behind closed doors to go. I wondered how they were all doing, with Wilkes released in their midst… I might be entering our favorite classroom to a bloodbath. Or a fight, in the middle of becoming a bloodbath. There was a lot of bitterness and coldness that came out, when Wilkes was mentioned — which he wasn’t, not often. Better not to think about the boy who somehow managed to psychologically bully all of them at one point or another, some more than others and some without any idea until they were brought into an actual, supportive group of friends by a nosy redhead with a bleeding heart.

My wards recognized me, I could feel a slight warmth tingle at my fingers when I touched the doorknob. It was as good as a ‘Welcome home!’ from wards as weak as these, really, when the magic wasn’t sentient enough to be considered as such. I opened the door hesitantly, wondering when on earth dramatic encounter after dramatic encounter wasn’t going to be my everyday anymore.

(Probably when I was dead. Again. Tends to happen when one is a plaything of Fate or Destiny or whatever fucking power decided to reincarnate me.)

 

**…**

 

I could’ve cut the tension with a _Diffindo_ , honestly.

They were Slytherins, so obviously I’d never walk into a heated argument without them noticing. They heard the door and immediately shut their mouths, thought I was obvious by the way Wilkes was smirking to hide a nervous edge in his bearing and all eyes on him were narrowed angrily that they were not getting along while I was having a wonderful conversation with Zabini.

This would be a much less wonderful conversation. I could tell.

“Nice of you to join the party, Weasley.” Wilkes started.

I had a strange feeling that if that opening comment had been even a smidge insulting, Dietrich would’ve punched him in the face. Which was telling, because Dietrich did _not_ punch things. Which was also telling, because when I first met Dietrich, he was punching things because of Wilkes. In this classroom, in fact.

Nostalgic.

“Were you waiting for me, Wilkes?” I asked pointedly.

_You don’t need a minder to apologize, do you?_

Wilkes twitched a little. He smiled, about to open his mouth to reply something sassy-

“I did warn you, Wilkes,” I said, letting my irritation show and my expression cool, “Do remember: I. Do. Not. Need. You.”

He stiffened. It was as I suspected, really: he was using my lack of being there to poke and prod at my boys, and expecting I wouldn’t do much about it. I’d say testing the waters, but this was more like him upturning the boat just because it was his knee-jerk reaction. That was the thing with the Dark, wasn’t it? Our first instinct was to destroy.

Wilkes turned to the others, jaw clenched. But he bowed shallowly, at the waist, towards all of them. They looked shocked at the gesture, Dietrich hiding it more than most; it was Dietrich who Wilkes looked at when he spoke.

“I apologize,” he said quietly, managing to keep most of the stiffness from his voice, “Last year, I did… cruel things. To all of you, in different ways. I apologize for the inconveniences you all suffered because of it. I am here, now, in an effort to make up for such stupid decisions, on my part.”

Well.

That was… very polite. And it was clear he wasn’t sorry, not really, but that he was an ally now.

But that’s what I asked for. If Wilkes lied to them about being sorry he had enjoyed their torment, about being sorry for hurting their feelings or whatever, they never would’ve believed it. It’d be _insulting._ And that’s not what the goal here was. I wanted Wilkes’ pride to be hurt, but not enough that he’d retract his offer of alliance; I wanted my boys to see that hurt pride, to see the difference between then and now, to be avenged in this tiny way; and I wanted them to know that this was an offer of alliance on his part, and that the apology was always going to happen even if they objected to the other.

If Dietrich demanded Wilkes go, that’s what would happen.

“You’re only sorry you got caught, Wilkes.” said Jay quietly, “That our Lyssie became bigger than you could ever be, and she demanded this of you.”

Wilkes smiled sardonically. “Why, Rookwood. I _am_ a Slytherin, you know. Why would I be sorry for anything else?”

“Maybe you should be sorry for being a horrible git that treated us all like pawns,” Lu hissed.

“Only the very stupid ones were pawns, Vaisey. Rookwood and Bastion were pushed aside instead.”

I stepped forward, making them all freeze at my angry expression. “Enough.” I looked to my boys. “You’ve all figured it out, I hope? That potential ally I mentioned this morning, it’s Wilkes. He’d offering us an easier way to take the _parvus potesta_ seat, if he gets a position in our camp.”

“But we can say no.” Jay said, flickering his green eyes at Wilkes hesitantly.

“Yes,” I said, nodding, “And I won’t take anything but a unanimous yes, to go through with it. I was never a direct victim of his, so I leave it to you all.”

Dietrich glanced at me. “What is your vote?”

Wilkes was quiet, awaiting judgement. Cool-headed, it seemed, but I saw the anxious fidgeting of his fingers, behind his back. Made me remember he was just a kid, this one, even if he seemed like so much more when he was just a non-entity.

“I would use him,” I said, “But you know how I am. Gryffindor-raised. Impulsive. Emotional. You know it all. If I say yes, I need you all behind me to balance that out, because we know I’m prone to manipulation without you all.”

Not damning information, of course. That was known. Dietrich met my gaze, though, and I was sure memories of the diary passed between us. It was luck, I think we both knew, that I hadn’t been drained of life and magic last year. That I had been just the type of person a half-crazed Dark Lord in the making would have liked enough to not kill right away.

Luck.

“Yes.”

We all looked up, startled. The voice had been… Harper’s. His blue eyes were trained on Wilkes firmly, mouth set into a thoughtful frown. When he noticed us all looking at him, he gazed straight at me, quirking his lips a little.

“I vote yes, Lyssie.” Harper said, smiling wider when I blinked at him in confusion, “If you never gave Lu a second chance, we wouldn’t have him, now, would we? And if Wilkes pisses us all off enough, I know you’ll protect us first.”

I smiled a little. That was… a lot of trust. A lot of trust, from the boy who had also been a second-chancer, really.

There was a frustrated groan. Lu. He glared at all of us. “Dammit. You bloody know I can’t vote no after Harper’s said that!” He turned to me, looking defiant. “You took a chance on me, too, so I suppose I’d be a git if I stopped you from it, even if it was for a little bastard like Wilkes.”

Wilkes made an affronted sound, but none of my boys glanced at him.

Jay sighed. “I think we know my vote. I trust Lyssie, and…” He glanced at Wilkes, eyes hardening and adopting that little gleam of his that meant nothing good. “Step out of line, Wilkes. Step out of line, hurt my friends, and you’ll find I don’t tremble, not when I’m casting curses.”

A past remark was referenced there, not that I understood.

This left Dietrich, who we all glanced at. He was the deciding factor.

He was the one who almost dropped out of Hogwarts, just to get away from the cruelties Wilkes devised. Lu might’ve been the physical bully, Harper might’ve been the hanger-on, Jay might’ve been the enabler, and Rosier and Flint might’ve been the extra muscle… But it was Wilkes who made sure Dietrich was questioning his worth, back then. Who would’ve ruined him, if Dietrich hadn’t found a sanctuary in me.

He didn’t take his eyes off of Wilkes the entire time, watching, fingers twirling his wand in his hands threateningly.

“I do not like it.” said Dietrich.

“Then-” I started.

“But I will accept it.”

We all did a double-take at that. I saw Wilkes’ jaw drop, for a moment, before he recovered his smug look.

“Dietrich?” Jay asked.

Dietrich looked at Jay, glaring without much heat. “You are level-headed, Julius.” He looked at Harper. “You are sharp when it comes to people, Harper.” Then Lu. “And you are usually much more vengeful, Lucas.” He returned his gaze to Wilkes. “If you all agree to allow this _petit baiseur_ into our camp temporarily, I cannot be the one to disagree.”

Wilkes’ lips were curling into a very triumphant-looking smirk. But Dietrich stepped forward, wand in hand. The other three boys took a step back, looking at the near _trembling_ anger in their Second’s frame.

“But Wilkes… _Sachez cela: Quand vous me tourmentiez, je n'avais rien. Maintenant, j'ai tout. Je les ai. Si vous essayez de me les prendre, si vous essayez de les blesser… Je vais vous montrer vrai tourment._ _Je vais vous casser,_ Wilkes.”

Damn him, and damn Harper, and damn Wilkes, too, apparently. Maybe Jay, since he seemed to pick up more of that than Lu and I did. Why did everyone speak bloody French? The only thing I got was that it was a threat, and I wished I knew what it meant.

Wilkes, of course, only smiled. “ _Assez effrayant, n'est-ce pas?_ Understood, Second.” He looked at me, tilting his head just enough to look careless despite the metaphorical wands at his throat. “That’s done with, then, Weasley. So? Shall we plan the downfall of an undeserving king?”


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's our weekly chapter, friends! XD It's a bit of a long one, and the reason for that is: I've been editing and adding and generally tearing the third arc apart. So if it reads choppy, that's why; I've had to dissect future chapters, put bits into earlier ones, write entirely new scenes... It's been a bit hectic. :D
> 
> So, with that in mind, do bear with me. :) Also, celebrating, as of right this second, 422 kudos and 179 bookmarks! And man, there's a lot of comments, which I realize if half me just replying to you all. :) But yes! Thank you, dear readers, for your support! Hope you enjoy! :D

 

 

**…**

 

“You look exhausted.” Jay said worriedly.

I tied his braid in place, then started brushing my fingers through my own short locks. Jay’s, Dietrich’s, and Lu’s room was neat and orderly, which was more than I expected for 12-year-old boys. Harper had intruded (didn’t hang around much in his own room since he wasn’t on good terms with Flint or Rosier), of course, sitting on Dietrich’s bed while our fake French friend was trying to teach him — patiently — how to tie a proper tie. Lu was glaring at the other occupant of the room as fiercely as he could manage.

Wilkes was also here, as it was also his room (he was the Harper of the room, never present when the others were, or so I was told), and we were preparing to… well, basically, to fight it out with Malfoy. Though his apology and admittance into our personal space was accepted… well, everyone but Harper and I treated him with a distant disdain, aware of their grudges. He was sitting neatly, reading a very Dark text — looked longingly at my _Sollertia Augurium_ , but hell would freeze over before I trusted an enemy with a book I’d literally _paid blood for_ — and grinning unnervingly at a twitchy Lu every now and then.

“I’m fine,” I replied to Jay, “Had a bit of a late night, but fine.”

Lu looked over, hazel-blue eyes narrowed. He was nervous, I could tell with the way he ran his fingers through his caramel hair. “Do you think he’ll duel you? Or have his duel one of ours? I hate this quiet bollocks.”

Harper laughed. “I want to duel one of the minions!”

But Nathaniel Wilkes’ voice cut through our warming atmosphere. “It is likely it will be another duel in the end, but first he’ll try to overpower you through words and wit.” We all turned to look at Wilkes, paying close attention. He closed his book softly. “His father’s influence is strong, but the quality of your camp and your actions last year counterbalance that advantage. Slytherins will be watching, and as long as your prove yourself more mentally capable and more magically powerful, even after his summer of heirship training, then the _parvus potesta_ is yours.”

Dietrich scowled at Wilkes reflexively, then spoke out, “We have the Head Girl’s alliance.”

“Because she desires the _potestas_ to return to what they were. The _magnus_ being seventh, sixth, fifth, _and_ fourth; the fourths still follow the _parvus_ and it degrades her ability to lead.” Wilkes reasoned, shrugging elegantly.

“Breaking the _potestas_ was stupid anyway,” I said bluntly, “The fourth-year’s grades are suffering. Everyone in the _parvus_ was suffering under him. Except for us, but we don’t count, and haven’t since Parkinson tried to duel me.”

Wilkes grinned. “A wonderful duel, Weasley.”

“Thanks.” I said flatly, not trusting that suspicious-as-fuck smirk of his.

Lu scowled, hard. “You’re one creepy prat, aren’t you, Wilkes?”

Wilkes simply smiled wider. “And you’re rather stupid, for being Sorted into Slytherin. Tell me, Vaisey, does it grate you, when you hear the whispers about how idiotic you were last year? You were the leader of us, and now you follow the whims of a bloodtraitor.”

Lu whipped out his wand, fury in his eyes. Wilkes’ wand was already in his hands. Lu was directing an angry glower at Wilkes anyway, hand pale with how he clutched his wand. He bit out, “Don’t talk about shit you don’t know, Wilkes.”

“I know perfectly well how stupid you are, Vaisey.” Wilkes replied, smirking.

Lu’s eyes flashed.

It was Jay’s voice, however, that said decisively, “Your jealousy is showing, Wilkes.”

Wilkes’ impassive brown eyes turned on Jay. “And what do you have, Rookwood, that I don’t?”

“My friends.” Jay answered, his gaze cool.

Dietrich was next. “Something you appear to lack,” he said vehemently, “Why else would you do this, betray Malfoy and his, like so? You mocked me once for being alone, Wilkes. Do you not find it amusing that our roles are reversed?”

I saw it. Behind Dietrich’s steel-blue strength, Jay’s determined moss-green, Harper’s fretting teal, and Lu’s orange-red fury, there was a flicker of deep scarlet. It flinched, thrummed with a flash of hurt, and when pain reached down into the core, that’s when I knew this was enough.

“Shut the hell up, all of you,” I said coldly, silencing the room and watching all of the colors go a little bit still with surprise. I turned to Lu, though I addressed all my firsties. “You agreed to his alliance. Stop provoking him when we’re about to face Malfoy.” Then I looked to Wilkes, who still had a cruel smile resting lightly on his lips. “And you. You know better than to irritate a room full of allies. I made it clear, before: We _do not_ need you. But we accepted you anyways, and I expect a certain level of decorum.”

My firsties inclined their heads, bowing to me. I was their leader, even if I preferred to act like their friend first, and they would respect my wishes. Wilkes, on the other hand, met my eyes challengingly, studying whatever was in them. Then he nodded stiffly.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

Times like these, when I had to bare my teeth at our errant, newest member and he backed down, I remembered he was just a _twelve-year-old_. He made it really, really easy to forget that sometimes. They all did, and I’m sure my own (questionable) maturity skewed my senses even more. Well, nothing for it.

I glanced at my boys, sans Harper. They copied his stiff motion and similarly gave grudging apologies.

With a sigh, I stood up from Jay’s bed and started to straighten myself up. My uniform was neat, sleeves rolled up and pinned up at my elbows so my forearms were bare, socks pulled up to my thighs (black, with a pattern of grapes, because _Luna)_ and charmed so they wouldn’t slip. My hair was still short and rugged, but I could see past the bangs, my face set. And then my wand, my elder-and-dragon wand, thrumming in my grip, slipped into one of my socks so only the handle was exposed (which was exactly why I switched from leggings to socks).

The boys were watching me, similarly standing and neatening themselves, getting ready. I couldn’t _really_ blame them for their argument; all of them were tense. We were confident in our ability to beat Malfoy _last year_ but the opportunity never presented itself, and he _was_ a Malfoy, so he’d probably trained his arse off this summer, especially after the Chamber incident. That, and having a hostile in the room — many of them remembering what Wilkes had said or done, still — and it just was inevitable that it almost came to blows.

I myself was a extremely untrusting of the kid. But I kept in mind that after Parkinson’s duel, he seemed to back off from my boys, and that my camp had all agreed that he could be put on probation. He’d done no lasting harm. Nothing I hadn’t fixed, anyways. Or smoothed over, a little.

“It’s time.” I said drawing my Mage Sight to myself, tightening my boundary and cutting out the magics’ song to barely a whisper, white noise, “Just as we planned, alright?”

“Take the _parvus potesta_ seat immediately,” Dietrich confirmed, nodding and stepping into my right flank. Where the Second belonged.

“It’s the afternoon, and everyone will be gathered. Malfoy will walk in to either see you take your seat, or just barely after.” Wilkes confirmed, taking the left flank.

(That spot belonged to Harper, in truth, but we’d discussed it. It was a big blow to Malfoy’s powerbase to blatantly show Wilkes as being one of my camp, and the higher, the better. Harper acquiesced easily, though his blue eyes sharply watched Wilkes; my curly-headed friend was very aware of our odd-man-out, though he — carefully — never confronted him. Even if he wanted to, which I’m sure he did; Harper’s sweet disposition was balanced out with his exposure to the petty and aggressive Lu, I think.)

Jay would position himself by Dietrich, wand in his hand. He was our best duelist, even if he was a gentle-hearted pacifist, so Jay would be on the outside. “I’ll remain standing,” he confirmed, nodding to all of us, jade-colored eyes blazing with determination.

Harper and Lu would shadow Wilkes. To show that we didn’t quite trust him, though he was certainly ours.

“Ready, Lys,” said Lu, who was obviously avoiding looking at Wilkes.

“We’ve got your back, Lys. This’ll be really stylish.” Harper said, laughing a little.

I rolled my eyes. “Slytherin is all about posturing and dramatics, and this is a statement. It’s a bloody pain, but we are trying to show we are better than anyone under fifteen. Snobby masks on, then? Let’s go.”

Harper laughed again, and we strode out to take Slytherin with a bang.

 

**…**

 

My smile was all teeth. Dietrich’s expression was coldly haughty, as usual when he put up his pureblood mask guard. Harper was grinning, seemingly unaware of the tension; playing the idiot that so many little fucks mocked him as. Lu had a condescending look about his eyes, which sharply scanned the common room. Jay was gently smiling, though the depths of his eyes were cold. Wilkes was smiling, too, and it’s just as empty as it normally was.

(They made a terrifying picture, my boys… I couldn’t _wait_ to see what sort of powerhouses they’d become when we grew up.)

I had my legs crossed, a book in my lap, but I was chatting about Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures with Harper, who was sitting on the coffee table corner, twisted around to talk to me. Dietrich was lounging against the arm of the sofa at my right, reading _Magical Drafts and Potions_ , conversing quietly with Jay who was standing near him, wand in his hands. Wilkes was to my left, wand flicking at a ball floating in the air lazily, Lu watching and attempting to copy the movement; they played friendly pretty well, it seemed, which was telling because those two were the ones who butt heads the most — a side effect of being pseudo-leader and pseudo-Second and then parting on unfriendly terms, I suppose.

But. They were all playing nice. And the rest of the House was watching, hiding in their favorite corners and sitting at other couches, speaking to each other and chattering but with their eyes following our movements.

Head Girl Zabini was in the _magnus_ and her smile had gone particularly feral when I sat down in the _parvus_ spot. We had exchanged a look and a nod when I’d gotten settled, and her black eyes had been shining with excitement. I really did like her; more so because she supported me.

(I wouldn’t forget the helpful hints she’d dropped over the months I’d known her. I wouldn’t forget how, sometimes, sevenths and sixths would mysteriously apologize to me when they’d pulled something and I was particularly stressed about it.)

The first years and third years didn’t dare come up to us for homework help, like the fifths and sixths and sevenths did for Zabini. That was the role of the _potesta_ leaders, not that Malfoy performed his role well. They kept track of everyone in their _potesta_ and made sure to direct students to where they needed help, or tutored them personally. They also were usually the liaisons between students and professors, mediators between arguments, referees of duels, and generally someone you could look up to for advice, help, or protection from other Houses.

They were more than prefects, though. Prefects were loyal to the school. The prefects turned to their _potesta_ leaders when they needed to not be. I was sure that other Houses operated differently, but because Slytherin didn’t follow Hogwarts rules and kept to their own, Slytherins needed a different set of administrators to turn to.

Snape — and probably all of his predecessors — simply left the students to govern themselves this way, as practice for the real world. Professors were the ultimate last resort. _Potesta_ leaders were who you _should_ turn to.

God, it would be a shit ton of work, but I could do it. I had my camp, which I could delegate roles to more efficiently than most _potesta_ leaders because I legitimately trusted them. Dietrich was my Second, my most trusted. Harper would manage inter-House relations and my portrait network. Lu had connections to many purebloods and sportier kids. Jay was an expert duelist, and wonderful with the lower-years. Wilkes would keep tabs on others, on enemies if he could, though he was a probationary member of my camp.

I could do this. This was simple. And with a position like this in Slytherin… I could help the incoming war so much. Be a public figure of Dark anti-Voldemort, which seemed to only be Snape in my memories. A haven for the Grey and neutrals. A spy for the Order, if they needed it.

That, of course, was in the future. 

Now? Well, now… Malfoy walked into the common room, a pale little intruder in the dark commons to my peripheral vision.

“He looks confused.” Dietrich muttered, face unchanging.

I kept smiling, nodding as Harper chattered more loudly and inanely, quite purposefully. “Who is with him?”

“Crabbe and Goyle, right and left flanks,” Dietrich replied, tilting his head consideringly at Jay, faking conversation with the effeminate boy, “Parkinson, Davis, and Bulstrode trailing after him immediately.”

I lowered my eyes. “And?”

Wilkes answered, “Edwin Rosier and Sebastian Flint joined him, along with Lily Moon, Basilia Carrow, and Godfrey Rowle. Ah, some third-years as well. Antonius Bates, Olivier Carwright. He is livid, now.”

Despite myself, I grinned. “Poor baby.”

Harper snorted and Lu snickered into his hands. Not much for subtlety, those two.

“The dethroned approaches,” Dietrich murmured.

“I noticed Zabini isn’t there.” I said lightly.

“His cousin wouldn’t let him suffer a loss like so,” Dietrich said, “The Greengrasses and Nott are watching us.”

I smiled. “They’re _all_ watching us. Let’s give them a show.”

My head rose and I smiled calmly when Malfoy stomped over, little better than a brat on the verge of a tantrum. The common room went silent as Malfoy looked us over, face sneering and eyes darting between Wilkes and me. There was a hint of panic in his faint, dark teal colors, which were still sickly darkening at the edges but looking much better than the glimpse I’d managed last year. A hint of panic, and a lot of anger.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he snarled.

(We timed this purposefully. Right before Malfoy made his bid, just as Wilkes said, so that he would be more thrown off and easy to defeat.)

Softly, I closed my book and looked at Malfoy with a pleasant smile. “Sitting, Malfoy. What else would we be doing?”

His jaw seemed to tighten. I was actually a little impressed, with how quickly he stilled his obviously building anger. No doubt some sort of Occlumency exercises were introduced to him over the summer. (Possibly because of nightmares, which I wouldn’t read into too much, because I was supposed to be this boy’s enemy, not sympathizer…)

He sneered. “I might have to thank you for warming my seat for me, then. Go away, Weasley.”

I tilted my head to the side. “I think I rather like this seat, actually.”

Dietrich turned cold eyes on Malfoy. “If you could leave, Malfoy.” Dietrich said dismissively — doubly insulting, because Dietrich was only a _Second,_ not a contender — with a wave of his hand, “I have rather irritating memories of your folly.”

Malfoy paled, and I inwardly cringed. A low blow, but it was Dietrich’s right to make it. He had also been dragged into the Chamber, after all. He hadn’t told me exactly what happened, or about how he felt on it — besides pissed off, when I avoided him a little at the end and during the summer, there — but I knew it was probably somewhat traumatizing.

He did recover admirably quickly, though. Malfoy, that is. “You seem to have forgotten your place, Bastion. You are an outsider here. A Second has no place speaking above their leader, just as a halfbreed has no place speaking to their betters.”

“Speaking of places,” Lu drawled out, leaning back on the table lazily, “Yours is under our command.”

“ _Parvus potesta_ , and all, you know?” Harper chimed in.

Ah. I really had to work on those two’s subtlety. As much as I liked getting to the point, Slytherin didn’t, and we needed Slytherin to like us. Well, _c’est la vie_ , I couldn’t do anything about it now. We’d made our claim as boldly and obviously as possible, now. 

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “You think you can usurp me?”

Jay chuckled, and when I glanced over, I had to Occlude a sharp pang of fear/smugness/surprise/pride/amusement at his sweet, menacing smile, out from showing on my face. “I think,” he said, voice willowy as always, “that we already have.”

“You can barely control your own camp from speaking out,” Malfoy sneered derisively, “What makes you think you can control half of Slytherin? You’re a bloodtraitor _girl._ You think you know the first thing about pureblood leaders? I know all you do is hide in corners with your second-year friends. You wouldn’t last a minute, Weasley. One last chance. Leave.”

I leaned back, visibly settling in. “It’s sort of comfortable here, actually. I don’t think I will.”

Parkinson was _seething._ “You don’t deserve it! You don’t deserve to lead us! You’re no better than a _Mudblood!”_

I heard more than one gasp, though to Slytherins, it was simply a sharper intake of breath. Sitting across from me, Harper and Lu looked like they were straining themselves to keep seated and not attack. (Because, honestly, they were very loyal and emotional, those two.) And beside Dietrich, Jay had gone very, very still. Even Wilkes raised a brow, glancing over at me and probably expecting some sort of temperamental explosion; redheads were famed for them, weren’t they?

Too bad (for Parkinson) it didn’t faze me.

_I was a Muggle once upon a time, girl,_ I thought to myself, looking at Parkinson with an expression of mixed pity and annoyance. “You truly are a poor excuse of a pureblood witch, aren’t you?” I said calmly (and I had to hold back a snort when I saw Lu, Harper, and Jay’s shoulders relax at my nonchalant tone). “Does it embarrass you, Malfoy?”

“I’d be far more embarrassed if _you_ were my _parvus potesta_ leader.”

“I hope you’re used to humiliation, then, Malfoy, because if you want this seat, you’ll have to earn it back with far more than your father’s money and inept followers.” I replied easily, smiling faintly at him with the infuriating expression I’d copied a bit from Wilkes and Josephine both.

Malfoy’s scowl deepened, became a bit colder. “And what are _your_ followers, Weasley? A halfbreed without any feelings, a boy who trips over both his words and his hair, a traitor that doesn’t belong anywhere, an idiot who needs to be babied, and a failed leader without any remarkable qualities at all.”

My grip was tight on my wand and and leaned forward, very close to losing my temper. Not _my_ firsties. I don’t give three fucks that I provoked him first or whatever, but Malfoy wasn’t going to hurt _my_ boys.

(Hypocritical, I know. I goaded him first, after all. But then… did I really care?)

“Let’s make this bloody simple, then,” I snapped, “Dueling Corridor, midnight tonight-”

Malfoy interrupted, “ _Duabus ex tribus_ , since you’re so bloody proud of the rubbish you surround yourself with.”

Three Way Duel. Customary to have it held seven days after the challenge was issued, under a moon of midnight. Not that the Dueling Corridor had windows for the moonlight, but the idea would be the same. Hm. Not a bad outcome, to be perfectly honest, as it was entirely within our Wilkes-aided expectations.

I nodded. “Choose your champions carefully, Malfoy.”

He stepped back, starting to leave, no doubt to prepare. “Leave the seat, Weasley.”

“For tonight, then,” I replied, standing and nodding for mine to do the same. 

Malfoy was heading to the dormitories. I would take me and mine to the normal abandoned classroom. We passed each other, our camps gathered closely behind us. Parkinson and Crabbe were snarling, Goyle and Davis seemed ignorant, and the other eight saved a bit of face and were simply walking away. Malfoy himself sneered, and then I looked away with a little smirk.

Oh, fun, fun, fun. Slytherin politics were just so annoying. _Duabus ex tribus_ was especially a bit more of a pain in the ass, since it was three duels at once. One more bloody week. I suppose I could make due with that.

 

**…**

 

The Fat Lady’s portrait was… Well, I never realized just how very _odd_ she was, last year (what with the horrible realization that I’d screwed one of mine and a somewhat innocent over so badly, crying my bloody eyes out in grief and such). She was a lot more fabulous in real life, her gown and jewelry and hair huge and poofy and all over the place. Her portrait frame was a lot more intricate, too, more baroque (Ravenclaw-esque, maybe it was a tower-dormitory-thing) than the Celtic decorations I was used to with my own mirror dungeon entrance.

(Slytherin’s entrance was a mirror. Like. That is HILARIOUS. It’s dusty and looks ancient as hell, of course, just to blend in with the rest of the shitty dungeon levels, but… It’s a mirror. No wonder we were all vain as hell.)

“And you’re certain you can’t just let me in?” I said, more amused than irritated.

She sniffed. “Of course not! Do you look like a Gryffindor, girl?”

I glanced pointedly up, at my hair. “Yes.”

“You’re wearing silver and green, foolish child!”

“But I’m also a Weasley, so by default, one has to assume that I’m a Gryffindor or risk a 90% chance of failing to guess the correct house…” I reasoned, hiding a smile. “Besides, what if the tie is a prank?”

“You don’t know the password!”

“Which is why I’m asking you.”

“AUGH! This is why I wanted to be the Gryffindor portal! Slytherins!”

“Well, that’s rude-”

“Lyssie?”

I whirled around, and brightened. “Perce! Perce, let me into the tower, won’t you?”

My brother came striding up, and gave me a very odd look for my efforts. He looked like he’d just come back from class, which he might’ve, even if classes had been let out for a few hours already. There was just this overworked look about him, in his irregularly ruffled hair and baggy, blue eyes. Poor Perce, he was probably adjusting to being Head Boy, and obviously not as seamlessly as Josephine Zabini, his counterpart. 

Well, nothing for it, then. I trotted up to him and threw my arms around him, and he absentmindedly wrapped his arms around me, too. He was warm and it was a comfortable, familiar feeling. Hugs were always nice. 

“Hullo, Perce!” I chirped.

“What’re you doing arguing with our front door, Lys?” he asked wryly.

“Looking for you and Ron and anyone else who I haven’t seen in a bit.”

He frowned. “Why? Is something wrong? Are you alright?”

_Overprotective Percy,_ I thought fondly, shaking my head and walking with him now. “Why is that your first thought? No, no, I’m fine. Readjusting to school and Slytherin again, but it’s alright. How’s Head Boyship, Percy?”

Percy said the password — _Thank for that, Perce, I can now enter and leave as I please, then…_ — and then entered as the Fat Lady scowled at me, to which I replied with a grin as I hung onto my brother. We entered and he rambled about how being a Head Boy was different from being a prefect, citing some differences and looking very frazzledly proud. He did like to lecture, and I did my best to listen and interject questions to steer the subject into more interesting ones. At one point, he began to ask after me, though this was on those cozy Gryffindor couches already, and he’d set out his homework though he wasn’t really doing it with me hanging about, even if I drifted into my own work just so we were both doing something while we chatted.

“Are you alright in Slytherin alone, Lys?” he asked at one point.

I blinked, a bit too focused on _Sollertia Augurium;_ translating the magicky words was a pain in the arse. “Hm?”

Percy looked a little fretful, even as he wrote out his own homework. “Are you alright in Slytherin alone?”

I had to smile. “I’m not alone, Percy.”

He fidgeted with his quill. “I know you have your friends there, but- ah- erm… I heard… Well, my fellow Head student, Josephine Zabini… We were meeting about when to set prefect inspections and patrol routes and she told me that I was lucky to have you. Which, of course, I already knew, Mother and Father didn’t expect your birth at all alongside Ginny’s, and-”

Huh. I think I know who I got my rambling-when-nervous-habit from.

“Breathe, Perce,” I said with a grin, “How’d we get from Zabini to me having no siblings in Slytherin, then?”

Percy went a little pink. “Ah. Well. Zabini was telling me that you’re doing very well for yourself in Slytherin, and that you… well, you wouldn’t have done as well in Gryffindor. Not that I believed her, you would have been an excellent Gryffindor, Lyssie. Maybe you could get Ron and the demon twins to study for once…”

I snickered to myself at the thought. “Studying? Them? Anything to do with academics just bores them, you know.”

“It’s ridiculous! This is their future, the three of them.” Percy muttered, starting to get fired up at the thought of academics and such, because _closet Ravenclaw,_ “It’s not like we have a lot of influence, our family. We have to make up for it by out-performing those — ah, excuse me, Lyssie… — ambitious snakes. None of them are interested in Curse Breaking or Dragon Keeping like Bill or Charlie, so it’s likely they’ll be going into the Ministry, just like Father, therefore their O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. scores will be more important than ever-”

I smiled to myself, listening to Percy. It was funny, because even now, when I loved them all more than ever and knew all their stupid, hidden, little quirks, my family amazed me with how _real_ they were. The books described Percy as boring and long-winded and erudite, but they forgot to mention his beautiful handwriting and the fact that, underneath his lectures, he really _cared._ Maybe I changed something for the better, right, but I like to think that, in the books/movies/non-reality, Percy’s fervent desire to care for his family was somehow just… lost in translation? Forgotten about and then faded, when he left them?

Seriously. He wanted Ron and Fred and George to be better students because he thought that none of them were adventurous like Bill or crazy like Charlie, so they’d probably take after Dad and do something interesting in one of the many departments of the Ministry. He wanted them to study harder so they could get there, and not some pureblood with connections.

My big brother was goddamn adorable, and if he wasn’t happy in this future, I’d do whatever the fuck I wanted — Fate and Destiny be damned — to make sure of it. All my damn brothers were adorable, honestly.

(Bill’s letters were always stories and anecdotes and clips of things he’d found. He used to read to me, teach me about the world, when I was a toddler. He still did, from far away.)

(Charlie had the most atrocious handwriting I’d ever had the misfortune to come across in my lives. But every letter was written with so much enthusiasm, smelling faintly of dragon musk and ashes.)

Therapeutic, that was the word. When I was stressed with Slytherin madness — good Merlin, practicing for a _Duabus ex tribus_ was a pain in the ass; I was playing with the idea of using this ritual-esque ward scheme, though it did take a bit to cast — or Seer visions or translating a scary fucking woman’s _magnum opus_ (she was scary… anyone who inspired a _half-demon_ to call her The _Mind Eater_ was scary), it was my family I went to. 

To destress, to be entertained, to calm down, etc. 

To remember who I was doing this for, that maybe Fate put me here for its own purposes, but I had my own reasons to fight, long before I understood Fate’s plans.

“Lys? What’re you doing in our common room?”

I leaned back on my chair and looked up to see Ron frowning at me, looking as if he were about to go to his dorm with Harry and Hermione in tow (both of whom gave me bemused waves). Seems they entered while Percy and I were babbling at each other.

“Our esteemed Head Boy let me in, obviously.” I said lazily.

“Huh. Well done, Perce, you’re finally breaking rules.”

“This doesn’t count, Ronald. Lys is family, and Professor McGonagall herself allowed Lys inside last year.” Percy said hurriedly. Probably came up with that on the spot, a bit of a half-lie stretched out into something Percy-acceptable.

Ron obviously thought the same. “Now I know why everyone says I’m pants at lying.” He turned to Harry and Hermione. “Do my ears get all red like that, too?”

Hermione snorted, and Harry gave a guilty sort of nod.

Ron looked offended. “This is why you always win at poker? Harry, you git!”

(It was a chaotic day, this past summer, when Fred and George demanded all us Weasley siblings play poker. They wanted to avenge themselves after Oliver Wood trounced them at the end-of-year feast.

Obviously their competitiveness was knocked into Ron, too, because after the demon twins destroyed the rest of us, Ron was determined to get better at it. I think he and Percy played everyday for at least two weeks. Ginny was always playing with me, though, with Luna watching on the sidelines. We’d only gotten marginally better.)

Harry looked away. “Sorry, mate.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I wondered why you two were suddenly playing with cards every day.” She looked at me oddly. “You know, Lys, you’re the only one — of your siblings, I mean — that doesn’t get red ears when you start lying.”

I grinned. “What kind of snake would I be if I didn’t lie?”

(I’d like to point out that I just truly sucked at poker, which was why I kept getting destroyed when anyone wanted to play. Seriously.)

“Stop smiling like that! You’re freaking me out!” Ron demanded.

Percy blinked at me. “Did you learn that from Head Girl Zabini?”

“Oh, I _wish_ she would teach me that smile.” I muttered.

My eldest Hogwarts-bound brother swallowed visibly. “I think I’ll have to have a word with Zabini.”

“Is the Head Girl related to the boy in our year? Slytherin.” Hermione asked, seating herself with us. (Ron and Harry followed, Ron collapsing into the sofa next to me with Harry on his other side.)

“Josephine Zabini is Blaise Zabini’s cousin,” I informed Hermione. Then I looked up thoughtfully. “They’re both very good Slytherins.”

“What’s that mean?” Ron asked curiously.

I shrugged. “Well, you’ve got your textbook Slytherins, which are those little gits that just flock to the biggest bully in the schoolyard. Keep their heads down, you know, but strike when they think they can get a kill in.”

“Rather morbid analogy.” Harry muttered.

“Then you’ve got bad Slytherins,” I continued (Percy seemed to have also passed on a penchant for lecturing, didn’t he? Not surprising, he was my favorite, after all; his colors were so blended with my indigo, it was almost odd to See.), “Like Parkinson, Crabbe, and Goyle. Utterly brainless, quick to fight, and above all, unbelievably obedient. No instinct to survive at all.”

Percy and Hermione looked at me disapprovingly. I wasn’t fazed.

Ron was snickering, even as the responsible ones started up a conversation about schoolwork.

“Sounds like them, yeah.” Ron mused, “Dunno why Crabbe and Goyle aren’t Hufflepuffs, sticking so close to Malfoy like that.” He blinked. Then he turned to my accusingly, nudging my shoulder with his elbow. “You changed the subject. What’re you doing in here? Haven’t you got… I dunno, people to duel?”

“That’s exactly why I’m here,” I groaned, reminded again of the horrible damn studying for the triple-person melee I’d agreed to, “I’m a good Slytherin, Ron, but it’s _tiring._ I’ve got so much to study and prepare for, and I just let Wilkes into my camp, and erghhhhh.”

“Wilkes? That creepy bloke that’s made every first-year cry?” Harry asked.

I raised my brows. “ _Every_ first-year? He left that detail out…”

Ron looked incensed. “Why’re you hanging around a kid like that? Don’t you recognize the name? That’s a Death Eater name!”

Rolling my eyes, I replied, “So is Rookwood and Vaisey, but you haven’t objected to them.”

“Not the point! No wonder you’re stressed, Lyssie, if you’re dealing with gits like Wilkes.” Ron said, narrowing his eyes at me suspiciously. “Mum said not to let yourself get too stressed; your asthma acts up.”

“Maybe you should take a break, Lys,” Harry chimed in, “Since, you know, I’d have to do something drastic to get into the Hospital Wing with you.”

I grinned at him, even as Ron looked between us in confusion. “If you ever need to, just tell Harper to practice some spells on you. Every spell or potion that comes from his wand or hands can be weaponized.”

“Blimey, Lys, what do you _do_ in Slytherin?” Ron interrupted frustratedly.

“Keep your hair on, Ron, I’ve got Dietrich and the rest covering my back.” I snorted. Then I brightened. “And you’ll benefit from this, too! I’m currently challenging Malfoy, and once I win, it’ll get him off your back.”

Harry grinned, wide and bright, at that declaration. “You’re dueling Malfoy?”

Because, of course, I told Harry about Slytherin politics and the fact that — as purebloods — our snakes _really_ liked dueling to settle matters. It was an excellent way to practice not getting caught when doing things of dubious legality, too, of course; hiding from professors, hiding from Aurors, what was the difference, right?

“ _Duabus ex tribus_ ,” I replied, somewhat smugly.

Ron moaned into his hands. “A three-way duel? _Really_ , Lyssie? Who’re you with and against?”

“Malfoy’s probably going to ask Parkinson — to redeem herself — and… well, it’s a tossup between Blaise Zabini, who might go neutral, and Sebastian Flint, who’s our age, Wilkes thinks. I’m still deciding.”

“If Mum knew that you’re dueling at all, she’d kill you.” Ron said dryly.

“If Mum knew anything I did in Slytherin, she’d kill me,” I replied matter-of-factly.

Percy chimed in, “If Mother knew of half the things you did at home, she’d be upset, as well.”

Harry grinned at me across Ron’s smirk. “Not to mention, if she knew how you react to dementors.”

“What? How do you react to dementors, Lys?” Ron and Percy demanded simultaneously.

I threw up my hands. “What is this, Bully Lys Day? You’re all prats! Except Hermione.”

Hermione smirked slyly. “I heard from Lavender that you and your friends were involved in the disappearance of one of the school brooms.”

“That wasn’t even my fault! You all suck!”

They laughed at my expense, the jerks, but it was warm and I had to hide my own grin. Slytherin was sleek and sharp and challenging, but Gryffindor was warm and comfortable and safe, and even wearing silver and green, I loved it for housing and protecting the people I loved the most.

This was… good. To clear my head. To remember.

 

**…**

 

“Hi, Madam Pomfrey.”

The Hospital Wing matron glared at me. “What is it this time, Miss Weasley?”

I smiled sheepishly. “Ran out of iron supplement potion. Professor Snape’s got a class right now, otherwise I would’ve gone to him.”

(Eh. Kind of a lie? My duel was in _two_ bloody days, which meant that I wanted to stock up. I had a good amount of nutrient supplement and shit, but iron? I was worried I might be a bit… faint, after the duel. And that’d be bad. Hence the need for spare potions.)

(Ugh. My duel was in two days. I hadn’t even chosen my two partners, yet!)

Madam Pomfrey sniffed. “Well, then. At least you aren’t bleeding all over the place. Come along, Miss Weasley. I ought to perform a check up for you anyways. Merlin knows you aren’t taking care of yourself properly, what with your apparent desire to outdo Mr. Potter with number of stays in my Wing!”

I snorted a little, knowing that talking back to the Healer would just backfire spectacularly. (‘Do not provoke the Healer of the Hospital Wing. You will die, and we will not save you.’ was written on the commons board in the Head Girl’s hand.) She led me to my bed (“Hey! My spot!”) and sat me down, then went to go fetch a few instruments to help her update my medical files.

Well. Madam Pomfrey would be back in a bit, so I took this time to lay down, head cushioned by familiar white pillows, and closed my eyes. I’d been neglecting my Occlumency and meditation with how much I had to practice for the duel coming up, keep an eye on Nathaniel, and still keep up with classes. If I got any more ragged, I was sure Snape would step in; he was _particularly_ watching Dietrich and I lately, and we had almost been afraid he’d have stopped us from challenging Malfoy.

(Because, obviously, Snape knows everything that goes on in his House.)

(Because, obviously, Snape was ridiculously protective of his snakes. It was cute, honestly.)

(Oh god, ‘Snape’ and ‘cute’ didn’t belong together. I had to mentally apologize to him. And bleach my mind. I respected Snape too much to think like this.)

Magical meditation was what calmed my colors down, smoothed out the creases that seemed to crop up when my Clairvoyance shuddered and bucked underneath my control. My Mage Sight was entirely Sovereign at this point, though I used spells as a crutch (one day, I would carve runes into my body to bind these spells to my core, to make it truly Sovereign, as _The Magick of Man-Hunters_ mentioned and my own research detailed). But the Clairvoyance was finicky and ornery, and its need to be Seen was building, and if I didn’t soothe it, I’d be trapped in visions and its violent reaction to diving too deep would crush my organs and shatter my bones with my own blood.

In short: I needed to fucking meditate.

The black space of magical meditation wasn’t the same as simply looking at your closed eyelids. It was deeper, and it felt like you were nothing. It felt like your physical senses were gone, and all there was, was floating in eternity. To most, it was difficult to find and navigate, because human instinct demanded that one is not floating in a fucking abyss with their senses ripped away from them; but I was very, very familiar with the sensation.

To most, resisting returning to that feeling, that ultimate physical helplessness and mental simplicity, was natural.

But I had been trapped in an infant body. I hadn’t even realized I was alive until my newborn sight started to develop. All I had in those days were the Clairvoyance and Mage Sight, both of which were much _much_ sharper back then than now. I remembered being metaphysical, reaching out with my colors to touch at the world. Meditation was similar enough that I had a good start, and now I could slip into my head and core as easily as I cast wandless Notice-Me-Not’s.

Occlumency helped here. My mental shields were ragged and worn as I prodded at them, probably doing their best to keep the headaches and visions at bay as I focused on other things. I had to carefully touch up on my memories. Then I had to swivel over to the area I’d cleared for the purpose of Clairvoyance, and sink into the magic.

I wouldn’t be able to describe it, moving through my own magic and head. It wasn’t real, I couldn’t see anything. It was all instinct and touch and flashes of images that were simply my psyche trying to represent what was going on properly, with the aid of my magic. One day, when I was better at Occlumency, I would develop a true mindscape, and Occluding would be _so easy_.

But for now, it was time to prod the visions out of their spiteful rest, empty what was storing up.

_Dark red hair, the color of roses, swept up into a hairband, twisting, flowing down her back — hands and covered wrists, sweeping blue cloth with golden embroidery, pale fingers on a branch-like wand — black eyes, cool and composed and a matching smile on her face. She was beautiful, in a deadly way._

_Stop._

_Harper huddled against the door, blue eyes nervous. His bronze hands were running through his dark curls, he bit his lip — the door was slightly ajar, he listened — dark red hair, pale skin and blue eyes commanding the others. She was a leader; he knew this._

_French accent, grey eyes like chips of slate, pale blonde hair and a stoic face — friend — “Why are we suddenly taking so many breaks, Guinevere? Adhering to a schedule when there was none before.” — flying on the pitch, broom under his hands, flitting about in the air. It was nice, he remembered, and it gave them all a break, but… — “You don’t like flying?” — amused voice, sly — “I do!” — caramel hair, hazel-blue eyes wide with excitement as he tossed a Quaffle over. Harper liked to play with Lu, he did — “I do not complain. I am just wondering, Guinevere.”_

_Stop._

“Suplicitigatio.” _— cruel voice, light chuckles, sickly white light enveloping the figure on the ground. He was chained and gagged — wrists rubbed raw — blue eyes, tears — a guttural scream, wounds exploding over his stretched skin. She delighted in it, grinning._

_“Vedi come ti proteggo, caro bambino?”_

_Stop._

_Harry Potter standing in a graveyard, leg bleeding and heart pounding. “What…?” — flickering images, red roses, black robes and hoods trailing along the ground — white masks, the moonlight reflected off of them — “Together, brother?” — Harry Potter standing in a graveyard, green eyes blinking and hand gripped around his wand._

_“This isn’t part of the Task,” — a soft murmur — trophy on the ground, dull light against the gloom of the — yellow accents and black cloth, grey eyes warm but confused — empty? — dead? — Josephine Zabini grinning at the first-year, stumbling steps — empty? — dead? — afraid? — dueling with three people, flashes of light and sound and — “STUPEFY!” — Harry Potter, standing in a graveyard._

_Stop._

**_You’re afraid of me._**

_It’s common sense to be afraid of the half-demon in your head._

**_And yet you approached my shop anyways. How foolish._**

_You’re helping me, aren’t you? Providing me with services advertised, and whatnot._

**_Few are worthy, reveler. Very, very few._**

_Stop._

_“It’s called ADHD in the Muggle world, at least.” — “What is that?” — “It makes you distractible. It’s not your fault, it just is. Distractible, sometimes hyper, sometimes daydreaming-” — Harper gripped his robes, his heart sinking. They knew — they knew they knew they knew no no no he didn’t want — “Oh.”_

_They knew they knew they — “Well, whatever. I like it.” Lu said — Harper blinked. He almost stepped inside, but he stopped._

_“Just don’t mention it to him, will you? It’s not like it changes anything.” — Nodding, Dietrich looked away, bored. Bored, because this didn’t matter. “It’s just Harper.”_

_“He’s getting very good at Charms, isn’t he?” Jay said cheerfully — smiling jade eyes, rosewood braid, sketching hands and-_

_They didn’t care?_

_They didn’t want to baby him? Treat him like he was retarded, cover him in fleece and lock him away — Mother, Father, pitying looks, hurting heart — chest hurts, I don’t want to be pitied, I want to be normal, aren’t I normal? — “Some Muggle affliction, I think.” — “No! No, no, no!” — she shrugged, inspecting her wand. “He’s just Harper. Does it matter?”_

_Stop._

_Hey. Hey, are you there?_

_You shouldn’t keep doing this to yourself, Guinevere._

_Ha. Did you know that you and Luna are the only ones who call me that, really? Even though-_

_Only Luna. I’m dead, don’t you remember?_

_My heart hurts, my chest aches, I — “This is a dream, isn’t it?” — fading, cracking, he’s turning into ash and dust and breaking apart, even as she did was she couldn’t do in real life and reaches towards him-_

_Ridiculous girl. I’m dead. Stop tearing yourself apart because of it._

_“I’ve never lost one of mine. And you-”_

_STOP._

My eyes snapped open and I sat up immediately. Was I crying? No? Good. Good, that was good. Fucking-

No. I wasn’t going to think about those stupid, stupid nightmares. I Occluded the shit out of those, made them go away. Guilt was- Guilt was something I wasn’t really used to feeling, not really, and I didn’t like that- well… Whatever. I wasn’t going to think about how I watched him die, and I wasn’t going to think about how sometimes I’d write snarky comments in my notes and expect them to snark back, and I wasn’t going to think about how no one I knew would- would _get it_.

(Why would you feel guilt for betraying a bad guy, Lyssie? He tried to kill Dietrich! Why would you miss him? He was going to _Imperio_ you! Why would you feel sad that he was dead? He stole some of your colors! He’s a thief! A murderer!)

( _Brother-killer. Monster._ )

Yup, nope. Not thinking about it! Not on the practical eve of my fucking duel, and not while my goddamn Occlumency barriers were weak already!

“Miss Weasley?”

I was startled by the interruption, but I recovered and smiled. “Hullo, Madam Pomfrey. Is it time for me to be checked upon?”

The matron huffed, hands on her hips. “Already done, while you were meditating. You’re very low on iron and you’re not sleeping properly, are you?”

I grimaced. _Don’t do it, Madam Pomfrey, don’t do it…_

“I’ve half a mind to keep you for the night and have you on supplements and nutrient potions!”

“Oh, Merlin, please don’t.”

“Hm. You’re not going to rest up if I tell you so, and you seem much better after a bit of restful meditation. I think I _will_ be keeping you, Miss Weasley.”

I groaned. “I knew I shouldn’t have come to you. I’m going to Professor Snape next time.”

Madam Pomfrey looked unimpressed. “Miss Weasley, I do hope you understand that your Head of House is even more worried about your health than I am. Professor Snape has always been very protective of his snakes.”

“Yes, but he’d just say something sarcastic rather than lock me away from my studies.”

“You study too much, Miss Weasley. Silly girl. Now. Bed. Get.”

“I’m _already_ in bed, Madam Pomfrey!” I whined.

She narrowed her eyes. “Sleep.”

Madam Pomfrey turned on her heel and left me to my devices. I sighed. The visions were okay for now, manageable, but I wouldn’t be able to take much more. I really had to start strengthening my body, if only so I could dive a bit deeper into the visions.

(The ones I wanted to look into, of course. Not Tom. I didn’t want to see that, not right now at least, and how about maybe never? That sounded good-)

Oh! I was presented a choice, I believe. Something to do with next year, the graveyard fight. Somehow? I didn’t understand. It wasn’t as clear-cut as my choice with Ron and the river, meaning it was further off or I was already in the process of making the choice. I changed something, or was _currently_ changing something. Fucking Clairvoyance.

Ah… And Harper. So he saw that, did he? I didn’t want to bring attention to his ADHD, not really. I can imagine the stigma being amplified in the magical community, since the magical community was full of stupid fucks. And it was part of him. He was hyper and he liked to learn even if he got distracted easily. It was just my friend, my Third (though such a term doesn’t traditionally exist, but Harper was quite proud of being one of the first to turn to my leadership).

Well, then. That was… productive, I guess. And that put me in a better mood, even being locked up in the Hospital Wing again.

One night would be… good. I could repair my Occlumency shields, since I haven’t had the time. And then I’d have to beat the hell out of Malfoy. I was really tired of how me and mine had to sneak around him.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, boys. Chapter 24... And how I'm officially nervous, because I'm still editing Chapter 27 and I've been in a very Skyrim and Fire Emblem mood lately, so instead of editing, I play games. Whoops...
> 
> Anyways. In my opinion the duel is a little... lackluster? Compared to the hype that's been going on. But I figure that's realistic, because they ARE still kiddies, so it's not like they'll be casting Fiendfyre and shit around. XD Oh! And thank you all for reading and commenting, as always. This fic's getting quite popular, when I never really imagined it would. :D
> 
> Enjoy!

 

**…**

 

_Duabus ex tribus._ One of the many duel forms that (usually) only traditional purebloods still performed. Them, or professional duelists. It was honestly surprising to be lectured by Dietrich and Jay on all the different forms of dueling, which were derivatives of the formal one-on-one, lethal-casting, honor-duels which were definitely not sport.

The form I agreed to duel Malfoy with was a three-on-three melee. One side only won if the other took out the leader, the catalysts of the duel. In my case, myself or Malfoy. The other two were meant to assist in defeating the leader, or protecting their own. It made dueling very _very_ tricky, and involved a lot of trust in your teammates.

(I believe Flitwick — famously known as a Dueling Champion in the Hogwarts gossip circles, of which all good Slytherins were firmly a part of — only participated in the _Duabus ex tribus_ Circuit once. He was a solo sort of duelist.)

Only two. I could only take two of mine into the duel (which wasn’t really a duel, but whatever).

And they all wanted to go.

“Lys, if you do not take your Second, it would weaken our position.” Dietrich said coolly, “It would appear as if you do not trust your Second. I am a competent duelist, as well. Malfoy was not the only one trained by his father because of last year.”

Good points, yes.

Wilkes smiled dangerously. “But it would be a blow to his adequacy as _parvus_ leader if I were to duel.”

“We’ve already established he’s a rubbish leader since you took my spot.” Harper said mulishly.

Hm. Looks like he held a bigger grudge than I thought.

“Out of everyone here, I’m the best dueler.” Jay reminded us all gently.

“Yeah, but you’re a pacifist, aren’t you? Don’t tell me you actually _want_ to go curse Parkinson out?” Lu snorted. He turned to me with a grin. “I’ve got power, you said so yourself. And I’m better at physical, I can catch ‘em by surprise with better movement.”

“Quidditch nut.” Dietrich muttered.

“Don’t be a prat, Dietrich, you’ve already had an adventure with Lyssie! Let one of us help this time!” Harper complained.

“Don’t be a _child_ , Harper,” Dietrich replied irritatedly, “We require the best duelists for this. We cannot allow Malfoy to win. It is our misfortune that every move we make is scrutinized more so than others. Our victories are far-reaching and long-lasting, but our defeat would mean the end.”

I sighed. “Sorry about that. Bloodtraitor, here.”

Dietrich snorted imperiously. “As if _we_ care about something so inconsequential.”

I smiled a little, and stretched out on Jay’s bed. He was sitting on the edge, sketchbook in his hands forgotten as he, too, argued about who was going to duel beside me. Lu was sitting in his bed lazily, Harper splayed out next to him on his stomach — not a sight you’d show to anyone outside of your friends, here in Slytherin, since dignity and pride were very important. Wilkes was hanging around Dietrich (probably just to annoy him, Wilkes liked doing that) even though he had a perfectly serviceable bed near Jay’s.

We had all been training. I’d put off the decision of who I wanted with me until we knew for sure who Malfoy would be bringing. With my and Harper’s portrait spy network, my and Dietrich’s good relationship with the House Elves (we still ate in the kitchens occasionally, just the two of us, for old times’ sake), and Wilkes questionable but very accurate resources… we knew for sure.

Parkinson, of course. Malfoy’s loyalest follower, who needed to redeem herself for her embarrassing loss against me last year. And, the portraits whispered and House Elves squeaked and Wilkes muttered: Blaise Zabini.

Which was a problem, because Blaise Zabini was an _actual_ threat. Malfoy was already questionably proficient in dueling and spellwork, Parkinson was a joke but a very ready shield, but Zabini? Malfoy must owe him a _huge_ favor for this, because if we won, Zabini would be in a bad position, but with Zabini’s help, there was as much chance we’d _lose._

Shite. None of us figured he’d pull out of his neutral position, but he and Malfoy _were_ old friends…

I closed my eyes and let their calm arguments wash over me. They were bickering and boasting, sure, but it was light-hearted, really. All of them were hyperaware that the final decision rested on me. Wilkes was questionable, still, but I adored my firsties for how much they trusted in me and my judgements.

Dietrich would be a smart choice. My Second, my right-hand, my best mate. Very intelligent, pretty good magical power, very in-tune with me. Possibly — probably — trained thoroughly by his parents, a few French or German tricks up his sleeve. However, his appointment would be predictable. He also was extremely cautious and not quick to act; Dietrich took his time contemplating problems and situations.

Jay would also be a good choice, because no one besides us — and Wilkes now, I suppose — _knew_ how prodigious at dueling he was. He would be extremely unexpected. However, Jay really didn’t like dueling, and we weren’t as good of a team because of the discrepancy in skill level. He was so hesitant to hurt others, so I didn’t want to force that on him, even if he was _saying_ he wanted to duel.

“Wilkes,” I called.

The entire room quieted, and turned their eyes on me. (It was a bit thrilling, to be honest, that they all respected and/or liked me enough to follow my cues like that.)

“Go over the duelists again.” I said boredly, pulling out my personal journal — where all the spells and magic I Saw was, all my Warding techniques, notes on Healing, anything I could use — and flipping to a new page.

Wilkes complied. “Parkinson is the weakest. Traditional pureblood that believes witches are supposed to be home-making socialites. I do not believe she has improved much from the last duel, Weasley.”

“Guinevere for you, Wilkes,” I said absently, drawing up a profile for Parksinson (as I’d done for Malfoy and Josephine Zabini last year), “More united that way, I think. If you’re going to betray us at any point later, you can go back to Weasley.”

I could _feel_ the glare Dietrich was giving me. He didn’t trust Wilkes enough for that, but I knew he also understood the necessity of it. Harper and Lu were probably going to sulk for a few days because of this, though.

“Hm… Then Nathaniel is alright,” Wilkes replied, “Does this mean I can join your little flying outings?”

“Like hell,” Lu snarled.

I looked up with a glare. “Play nice, all of you. Wilkes- Er, Nathaniel, continue.”

A pause. Then, “Malfoy is much better than last year. We prepared for him, however. Do you need me to go over him again?”

I flipped back to his updated page, which Wilk- Nathaniel had helped me make previously.

“General stuff, for the boys.”

“Hm. Well, he is _much_ faster, and has a greater arsenal of spells. His father, I believe, trained him intensively as a response to his kidnapping last year. He is very cautious, however, and will always choose to retreat if he can. His defensive spells are weak, he has no Healing to speak of, and it is likely he will allow Zabini and Parkinson to do the work and strike when it suits him.”

“Textbook Slytherin,” Dietrich said lazily.

“Slytherins are still dangerous,” Wilkes- ergh, _Nathaniel_ retorted, “That is why we are the most feared House.”

“We _know_ that, Wilkes.” Lu snarled.

“It’s Nathaniel, _Lucas._ ”

“You little git-”

I looked up again with narrowed eyes. “Play. NICE.” I growled out.

Wil- Nathaniel had his hands up in surrender, but there was a smirk on his face that opposed Lu’s irritated scowl. I had to sigh. If there was one benefit to having Wilk- to having Nathaniel, then it was that he tested all of their patience. He tended not to provoke me, since I was the “boss”, but everyone else was getting lots of practice in holding their tongues and cooling their heads. 

(I think I ruined them for that last year, since I was such a Slythindor, and I _did_ like bluntness and honesty between our small friend group. They’d all forgotten how to be sly and fake and generally Slytherin-impassive, but I’m sure with Wilke- Nathaniel to practice with, we’d be ready by the time we were the _parvus potesta_ reigning.)

“Moving on,” Nathaniel said smoothly, “Zabini. Almost guaranteed to be the main attacker, which is rather dangerous. Very powerful, quick-witted, and hard to pick apart. Quintessential Slytherin, excellent duelist, good friend to Malfoy. However, he seems to disdain everyone else of Malfoy’s camp, and has always been better alone. Again, it is likely he is dueling as a favor to Malfoy, having been neutral for quite a while, and so will not be as desperate as the other two.”

“I should be dueling. To balance him,” Jay muttered, “His aunt was a champion in the Circuit.”

“The Head Girl’s mother?” I asked.

Jay shook his head, fiddling with his quill. “No, another aunt. From the main family, Lavinia Zabini. Josephine Zabini is only a Zabini by her father. Zabini is traditionally a matriarchal family.”

I hummed. “So that’s why Blaise Zabini took his mother’s name. I wondered.”

“Only very old families boast matriarchal succession,” Wi- Nathaniel explained, “And many of the magical purebloods of Asia minor, southeast Asia, all that. The Zabinis aren’t too well-off, however. They call Nicolosia Zabini the Crimson Widow, for amassing fortune through marrying rich men and inheriting their properties when they die.”

“Is she the matriarch?”

“Fortunately not,” Nathaniel chuckled, “If Blaise Zabini were of the main branch, he would be much, _much_ more dangerous. The older the family, the stronger their magicks. Nicolosia Zabini, therefore her son, are rather looked down upon by the rest of the family.”

“What are the chances of Josephine Zabini helping us?” Dietrich asked.

Another pause. “Likely, actually,” Nathaniel said thoughtfully, as if he were surprised. “It would be to her benefit if you won.”

“And didn’t she try to keep her cousin neutral?” Jay asked. “She might be upset that he went against her orders. She has seniority in the family, and she’s a female.”

“Ah, the English offshoot of the Zabinis is patriarchal, so not really,” Nathaniel said, “But I always thought she belonged to the Italian branch, if not the main branch. She’s too vicious to become some quiet, pureblood wife.”

I grinned. “She’ll help, I think. She picked me up last year, you know? Called me her favorite firstie and that she’d keep the evil snakes away from concussing me.”

Harper laughed. “I like Head Girl Zabini. I think we should ask.”

I nodded, noting it down. “Only a few days ’til the duel.”

“Yes, so pick your right and left hands, Guinevere.” Nathaniel sang.

I sighed. This was the issue, wasn’t it? My damned feuding, little firsties. I was putting it off, but it wasn’t a question of, ‘Who’s feelings do I not want to hurt?’ None of me and mine were that petty, to be truly offended, as long as I explained my reasoning and created a good balance. But still, I was hesitant.

“Lu.” I said.

The boy in question sat up straight and had an eager look in his eyes. I smiled inwardly at how much like an excitable child he looked. (It was weird, to be planning all this political shite with _children._ But, then again, _Slytherin._ Magic. Purebloods. Ergh.)

“You have the magical power, and you match Parkinson well,” I said, watching as a smile grew on his face, “I want you to destroy her as quickly as possible, and then you’re going to annoy the shit out of Zabini and scare Malfoy.”

Lu nodded seriously. “We’re not losing because of me.”

“Jay, Harper, I can’t bring either of you. You’re both very attack-oriented, and with me and Lu, we’ll need someone more defensive. Hope it’s alright?”

Jay nodded in understanding, and there was a quiver of relief in his moss-green core. Harper pouted and looked away moodily.

“Harper, I swear, the next person who challenges us for the _parvus_ will be all yours.” I said apologetically.

His lips twitched. (He couldn’t hold a grudge, the dear child.) “Promise?”

I smiled. “Of course. We’ll work to get our experimental spells and potions and shite all squared out, and then you’ll use those to take whoever you want down. It’ll be fun.”

“Well, that’s probably better anyways. If you say so, Lyssie.”

I nodded to him. Then I looked at the remaining two, who were glaring at each other. _Children._

“I’m torn between you two, actually.” I said, “I need a defensive duelist. I have my wards, but those take time, so I need someone to cover me and Lu from both Malfoy and Zabini while I get a ward up and Lu takes out Parkinson.”

Dietrich scowled to himself. Probably calculating how much he would have to do to hold off two good opponents for as long as Lu took to get rid of Parkinson.

Nathaniel turned to Lu. “How long will it take you?” he asked.

“What?”

“Parkinson. How fast can you Stun her or whatever?”

Lu frowned. “Depends on if she hides behind Zabini. Probably thirty seconds, especially if I run at her or something. She won’t expect that, but Malfoy might defend her.”

“You would have to anger her,” Nathaniel suggested, “Draw her away from Malfoy and the others.”

“I’ll help you with that, Lu,” Harper said cheerfully, “It’s easy to annoy people.”

“Right.” Lu said, nodding decisively, “Thirty seconds, then.”

Dietrich sighed. “I could duel one, but Malfoy and Zabini together will be dangerous.”

Wil- fucking, goddammit, _Nathaniel_ capitalized immediately, the Slytherin he was. “I could do it.”

I raised a brow. “Oh?”

Nathaniel grinned. “Dietrich here wouldn’t be able to fight off two semi-skilled duelists because, as wonderful as our lovely Second is, he is easily overwhelmed in high-speed situations. I, on the other hand, _thrive_ on chaos.”

Dietrich was lucky he had such a good hold on his emotions, because I think he was about to have an aneurism out of pure anger. He and Nathaniel weren’t all hostile because of the bullying, though; Dietrich admitted that he already felt avenged because Nathaniel had to betray Malfoy and Dietrich was in a much higher position than him. But the two just fucking _fought_ all the time. It was like they were destined to be sniping at each other.

My best mate finally growled out, “Fine. But if you cost us this, Wilkes…”

Nathaniel grinned. “What would you be able to do, Dieeeeetrich?”

“I would be able to spell your bloody eyes blind, if anything.” Lu commented lightly.

“Now, Lucas, I thought we were friends?”

I groaned into my hands. “Nathaniel, for the love of Merlin, stop pissing off my firsties. I know you’re doing it on purpose, you prat.”

He chuckled, dismissing my exasperation. “You’re all really so _fluffy._ It’s almost unnatural. But I won’t jeopardize this duel, Guinevere. No one would take in a turncoat. In two days, we will be Slytherin kings.”

“Hm. If you don’t irritate us all to death first.”

“You three should go to Zabini,” Dietrich muttered.

Jay nodded empathetically. “You’ll need her to teach you how to counter her cousin. We’ll work on homework and things until we can join you.”

Because they all knew how to copy each other’s handwriting with spells. I learned that late summer, so I’d have Percy’s handwriting as a font forever. It wasn’t as if the professors would check for that sort of thing in second-years, it was at _least_ an O.W.L. level charm.

“Right, then. Lu, Nathaniel, let’s go.”

I stood, and Lu took my right flank as Nathaniel took the left. Lu wasn’t quite able to hide the giddiness; must’ve been interesting, to be in Dietrich’s usual position.

“We’ll probably have to promise the fourth-years to her.” Nathaniel said mildly.

“A simple bargaining chip. The rest of you, we’ll meet in the usual classroom. Any of you need sleep for something in particular?”

A round of “No.”s and shaking of heads.

“Good. Meet back here after classes, yes? Oh, but Dietrich, stop by the Kitchens and pick up what I asked Tilly for.”

Lu gave me an odd look. Never did understand why Dietrich and I loved the Kitchens so much. (Might be because it was his actions, back then, that drove us to seek sanctuary in there. Neither Dietrich nor I had the heart to explain that to him.) “What did you ask the Kitchens for?”

I smiled grimly. “Coffee. The magical kind that’s spiked with Alertness Potion.”

 

**…**

 

They _actually_ kicked me out.

“You gits.” I muttered under my breath.

The duel was in less than twenty-four hours and they locked me out of the abandoned classroom! I mean… I could probably do something really mean with the wards, they were _mine_ after all, but it’s not like… I mean, they’d been yelling at me to take a break for _maybe_ two hours already, so I suppose it wasn’t fair for me to be mean just because they were worried.

“Go take a walk, Lys.” said Jay’s muffled voice through the door.

“Don’t encourage her to stay! Get away from the door, Jay!” I heard the faint voice of Lu yell.

He was being dueled by Harper, who was encouraged to act as Parkinson-like as possible. It meant a lot of shrieking and slapping and Harper firing spells even _he_ had already mastered like an amateur. It was really cheering, too; if any of us were flagging, we’d go wake ourselves up by watching Harper and Lu flail around.

Anyways.

I sighed, refraining from knocking my forehead against the door in frustration. “But what if I run into a basilisk?” I inquired innocently.

“Lys. Go to the Kitchens. Eat. Go. Now.” Dietrich commanded, his teeth probably gritted behind the door.

He was probably on the verge of breaking it and following me, actually. But Wilkes goaded him and accused him of not trusting me, and then Jay said that I needed some time off to think for a bit since I was a bit more distracted than usual. I rolled my eyes at the muffled argument that sprouted up from Dietrich’s terse words, and then rapped my knuckles against the door to shut them up.

“I’m going, I’m going. Happy, then? I’ll be back in a quarter of an hour. Try and get me back if it’s longer, yeah? I might fall asleep.”

“As if you’ll be able to, with how laced this coffee is.” I heard Wilkes scoff.

“Isn’t coffee bad for kids?” Harper asked.

I shook my head, smiling, as I turned on my heel and walked away. A little Notice-Me-Not and a bit of a range-expansion on my Mage Sight, and I’d be good to go; as long as I kept to the routes where the friendlier portraits were and kept an eye out for Filch or his cat, I’d probably be fine. None of the patrolling Slytherins would ping me, seeing as I had a bloody duel tomorrow, and Josephine said she’d keep the rest away.

(“Kick the little ponce’s arse for me, yeah, Guinevere?” she’d asked with a wink.

I smirked in reply. “As long as you help us out a little, of course. That, and the fourths are yours.”

“I look forward to it, little queen.” Josephine laughed.)

(It had… been a bit shocking, to hear my dad’s pet name for me from her. But I’d recovered and grinned, even if I felt a little pang of longing for home. Mum and Dad would kill me if they knew I was dueling already; I think Dad _sorta_ knew what went on in Slytherin, but Mum… Well, she’d be furious and I’d be dead.)

But I suppose my boys had a point, especially Jay. I had been a little distracted, hadn’t I?

The… Occlumency, it was bothering me. I’d done some repairs, but they were more akin to slapping bandaids around rather than actually stemming the blood and suturing the wound closed, you know? My barriers were shot to hell with the fucking dementors all over the place — walks with Luna were often cut short because _neither of us_ felt safe with them possibly around corners and shit — and my magical upsurge from my birthday and all the stress piling up…

Well, my Clairvoyance would have a field day if I didn’t let it loose for a baby bit every night. And thinking about all this got me to thinking about my last bout of meditation, which got me to thinking about Tom bloody fucking Riddle and how I still missed that little bastard even when I really-

“Oh, for god’s sake, this is embarrassing. What am I, a teenager?” I mumbled.

I could really use-

Huh.

Those were very familiar colors. The deep blues and bright lines of turquoise and gold, hints of green and indigo and black; fiery orange and red and gold, streaked with cream and pale pre-dawn lavenders and blues; deep, restful green and easter yellows, threaded with delicate rose-pinks that deepened into deep, flowery magentas. Very, very familiar colors.

What was the Golden Trio doing around these parts?

And then suddenly their color-trails — which can only be freshly present for about a half-minute, for me, which nixes any thought of me being some great magical tracker — were absolutely gone. Vanished.

What the actual fuck-?

“Psst! Lyssie!”

I jolted, flinching away from the voice with my wand in my hand immediately.

Then the space just in front of me folded and distorted, and Harry, Hermione, and my brother were there. I eyed the thing in Harry’s hands, though. The Invisibility Cloak evidently erased their magical auras, and my ability to briefly follow their tracks. Very useful, I suppose. Made sense, too.

“Ron? What’re you doing in the dungeons?” I asked. Then I scowled. “You gave me a bloody heart-attack, git!”

Ron shrugged, though the two brunettes smiled sheepishly, at least.

I raised a brow. “What’re you doing here? Snape’ll kill you if he sees you around his dungeons, you know.”

“You’re wandering about just fine.” Ron retorted.

I rolled my eyes. “I’m a Slytherin, about to duel Malfoy for his position. He knows me and my boys are all up, getting ready. Everyone does. Josephine was even nice enough to make sure the dungeons were as clear as can be for me.

Harry frowned. “Wait, is that why it was such a pain in the arse to get around the prefect patrols near the towers tonight?”

“The Head Girl can _do_ that?” Hermione asked, puzzled.

I gave her a small smile. “Hermione, I don’t think you quite understand what I mean when I say: We’re Slytherins. We can do anything.”

“House bias!” Ron accused.

I scowled at him. “You’re the last person to be talking to me about that, Ronniekins!”

Harry snorted.

“Don’t call me that, Lyssie!”

“Ronniekins?” Hermione asked, looking both embarrassed for Ron’s sake and amused because of it.

Hermione was at the receiving end of one of my pale imitations of Josephine Zabini’s grin. She didn’t look nearly as unnerved as she should, given what I’d seen the Head Girl do before. “Childhood nickname, of course. Used to love it when he was younger.”

“Lies!” hissed my brother.

“Slytherins _do_ lie.” Harry hummed.

I pouted at the bespectacled boy. “I thought we were Hospital Wing mates?”

He shrugged, giving me a little grin. “I’ve got my House pride, too, you know.”

I chuckled. “Alright, I’ll bite. What’re three Gryffindors doing, prowling around the snake dungeon, hm?”

Hermione crossed her arms, looking a bit embarrassed and exasperated. But she shot a genuine smile my way, which had me frowning a little with how many conflicting emotions she always seemed to sport. “You’re going to duel Malfoy tomorrow, aren’t you?” she asked.

There was a clear, _-even though I really don’t think you ought to, because we shouldn’t be dueling, and really, what do you people do in Slytherin anyways, that you have to be issuing duels to each other so often?_

I know, because I often found myself sinking into that logical mindset; then I remember I’m a damn Gryffindor-raised-Slytherin who is a Seer twice over and a reincarnation to boot, so I really have to throw out that logical passiveness out or I’d go mad.

“I’m dueling the ponce, yeah…” I trailed off. “Did… Did you all want to watch or something?”

“Yes!” went the boys.

“No!” Hermione said in surprise.

The three glanced at each other.

“It’d be educational, right, Hermione? Watching a real duel?” Ron hedged.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Don’t use that against me, Ronald.”

I winced at the impending debate on whether the educational experience of watching or participating in a duel outweighed the obvious breech in Hogwarts rules, then cut in hastily, “Well you’re not allowed to, anyways. It’s a Slytherin matter, I can’t have three Gryffindors bearing witness. Besides, you’re really not supposed to know about the duel anyways.”

Harry nodded. “We don’t _really_ want to watch, Lys-” “Speak for yourself, mate.” (Harry and I both rolled our eyes at Ron’s words.) “-but we did want to wish you luck and, er… Well, Hermione-”

Hermione snapped out of her and Ron’s conversation — I think she was reprimanding him on trying to appeal to her love for academics when it was entirely uncalled for — and then sighed again. But she looked amused, and out of her robes came out a small bundle of…

Flowers.

All pale pastel shapes, neat as origami, but they were alive. My Mage Sight flickered in just to let me know how seeped in magic they were, an odd mixture of Hermione’s and Harry’s and all my Hogwarts-bound siblings’ to be exact; they were Conjured or Transfigured, I didn’t have the skill to tell the two branches of magic apart yet like this, but they were very… cute. I took them into my hands and held them to my chest, beaming at the fond memories I had of flowers and luck.

“These two absolutely refused to be the ones handing you the flowers, which is why they dragged be out of bed.” Hermione said, chuckling a little as I smirked at Ron’s reddening ears and Harry’s distinct lack of eye contact.

“Never took you two for being shy of handing me gifts, with how often you shove unedited homework at me when I come up to your tower.” I said, raising a brow at them.

“They’re flowers!” Ron protested, “I don’t- do- flowers. Girl gifts.”

I snorted. “Ronniekins. You’re related to me, flower-giving really can’t be misconstrued as anything vaguely romantic, with us being proper, non-incestuous bloodtraitors.”

“Ergh! Horrible imagery, Lys! Merlin’s sake!” Ron protested, covering up his ears childishly.

I was torn between grimacing and grinning, but for the sake of messing with my big brother, I let the grinning win out. “Imagery? Merlin me, Ron, you’re really getting into the hang of this puberty business, aren’t you?”

“Lys. Stop.”

I snickered at his horrified face, and glanced out of the corner of my eye that Harry and Hermione were similarly amused. With a dash of vague sickness, just on the principle of the matter, of course. God, I was tired. My social skills were all over the place, and I had to remember I wasn’t bantering with my boys, who were much more used to pureblood jokes like that. Because, you know, when people can’t stop sneering at my bloodtraitor thing, I like to reply that at least I’m not proud of the pureblood inbreeding thing.

Yeah, I was tired.

But I was still very, very pleased by the flowers in my hand. Not the ritual that I used to do, of course, but the thought behind it was what counted. Seemed all of mine from Gryffindor collaborated for this, though only the Trio presented it. Probably because Ginny had a History of Magic essay due tomorrow that she’d put off, and Percy knew about it; she was likely locked away in the tower with him sternly guarding her from sneaking off to wish me well, too.

“Thanks, though,” I said quietly, looking at my flowers with my Mage Sight, picking out the colors of my family out and feeling a knot in my stomach ease at the familiar sight, “Even if I’m not allowed to tell you much about it, thanks for supporting me.”

Ron huffed, and swung an arm around my shoulders casually. “S’what family’s for, Lys.” mumbled my brother, looking at a very faded tapestry with a little too much interest, “Just be careful, right? _Duabus ex tribus_ is tiring, I reckon, so don’t stress your lungs.”

“I’m stationary, don’t worry. My partners will be the ones moving.”

“Harper, then?” Harry asked.

I shook my head. “Too attack-oriented and inconsistent, him. I’m taking Lu.”

“Vaisey. Trying out for Quidditch, soon, isn’t he?” Ron asked.

“Yeah. Won’t shut up about it, either.” I chuckled. Then I wriggled out of Ron’s very loose hug and beamed at them all. “I’m glad you all took the time, though you three were really lucky I was walking around when you came.”

“Demon twins said you’d be around here.” Ron said.

“They were really insistent,” Hermione added, nodding bemusedly, “Practically pushing us out the tower because it ‘might been our only chance’. How did they know?”

I smiled to myself inwardly. Marauder’s Map, I bet you anything.

But I shrugged. “They’re the demon twins, you know? Nothing they do makes sense.” I motioned to the Invisibility Cloak still in Harry’s hands. “Should go back soon, though. I’ve got to work a bit more, practice with my boys, but there’s no need for you three to lose any more sleep. Let Fred and George and Perce and Ginny know that I appreciate this, okay?”

Harry nodded his confirmation, Hermione smiled, and Ron reached out to ruffle my hair before they and their magical auras disappeared underneath Death’s cloak once again. I waggled my fingers where I thought they’d disappeared, and then sighed at the silent corridor. No footsteps, not anymore, so they were gone.

I glanced at my flowers. “Well, Lyssie. Get your head back in the game. It’ll be embarrassing if you lose the duel after this, too.”

My Mage Sight roved over Ron’s gold and Harry’s green and Hermione’s rose, past Fred’s burgundy and George’s plum and Percy’s sky blue. Ginny’s gentle maroon and carmine caught my attention; she’d poured a lot of her magic into the Transfiguration or whatever it was, probably wishing she could be one of my _tribus_ partners. It’d be like her.

Her carmine was neon compared to the deep, deep sienna red of my own colors.

“After the duel,” I promised quietly, “I’ll address this.”

_I make a lot of promises._

I pressed my flowers to my chest, then I pivoted on my heel and made my way back to my boys. I wasn’t even really that hungry anyways. _He_ once told me that if you keep yourself busy, you forget to be afraid. I think that would work for guilt too.

 

**…**

 

Major de ja vu. Slytherins lined the generously wide Dueling Corridor, gravitating towards one side or the other. Many of the older ones were a bit nearer to me, probably Josephine Zabini’s — or, as she asked me to call her, just Josephine’s — influence. The younger ones were a bit less sure about it, as they didn’t really know any other leader but Malfoy and didn’t know that they should be succeeded much more.

(In Malfoy’s first year, Josephine had closed the _magnus potesta_ to him and his entirely. The older and younger years never interacted unless they were related because of this. No tutoring, no advising sessions, nothing. Fucking Malfoy really screwed his control over by pissing Josephine off that much.)

Lu was on my right, admirably looking confident and pleased. His red colors were roiling with nervousness and tension. Nathaniel was on my left, and was much more poised than Lu, though his deep scarlet and plums were bubbling with apprehension. Understandable; he staked everything he had on me, and now we were going to prove if that was the right choice.

Josephine was waiting in the middle of the corridor, vampire smile on her face.

“Know your opponents.” she said, nodding.

Malfoy had Zabini on his right and Parkinson on his left. It was perfect, with Lu facing her and Wilkes- goddammit, _Nathaniel_ (it was so damn hard to get this kid’s name straight, since we were all still leery of him and his closeness with us was almost completely political) leering at a blank-faced Blaise Zabini. Malfoy stepped forward as Josephine retreated backwards, and I did the same.

We shook hands.

“Sure you can trust a traitor like Wilkes, Weasley?” Malfoy sneered.

“More than I trust you to lead the _parvus_ , Malfoy.” I replied.

“And the heartless wonder isn’t here. Finally figured out that your Second’s useless? About time. Though why you’d replace the halfbreed with a fool whose only interests are on children’s games is beyond me.”

“More proof that you’re a rubbish leader. You don’t even know your control, do you?”

His grip on my hand tightened. “I know you’re just a useless chit, waiting for someone to recognize you and pick you out of your oversized litter. No money, no pride, and barely a name to yourself. You _will_ bow under my leadership.”

_Pale skin and cruel grin and crimson eyes, brighter than her hair but darker than the blood dripping down his arm — Tom Riddle Sr. and his grave, sitting above the other mounds of stone just as he was above all others in life — “Cecelia, darling, let’s go.” he laughed, spurring the reigns — Green light flashed, three adults cowered away screaming._

_“Bow to death, Harry…” the hiss went — two spells meeting, red and green, erupting into one flash of phoenix song and gold. Heart rising, three hearts rising, blood all over his arm, trickling into the grave dirt-_

_Stop._

My eyes went icy. “I bow to no one. Least of all spoiled daddy’s boys.”

Malfoy smirked. “That will change, Weasley. It’s time you remembered just how far below me you are.”

Our hands unclasped, smarting with strong-fingered grips and anger, and we stepped back as ourrespective hands bowed shallowly to each other. Parkinson didn’t bother, but Zabini was polite. Lu looked irritated, and Nathaniel just seemed eternally, coldly amused.

Josephine directed us through the niceties. I would also have to learn all these traditional things, when I was the reigning snake of the _parvus potesta_. It was traditionally the leaders that oversaw duels, their Seconds or other trusted lieutenants.

(She told me, while she was going over techniques to go against Zabini, that I was lucky. Most Slytherins only had two or three close friends, and kept an eye on everyone else. That I had four — almost five — loyal to me, plus my brothers… Josephine said I would be terrifying, one day, if this was what I could accomplish after a mere year in Slytherin, following a lifetime as a bloodtraitor.)

At the end of it all, we stood several paces from each other. The older years, though mostly Josephine, had erected barriers with old wardstones that were always found near the Slytherin fireplaces, in the eyes of the snake decorations. The crowd would be safe as Malfoy and I pitted our magic and lieutenants against each other.

“Begin,” Josephine said, stepping behind the magic-repelling wards.

Lu and Nathaniel dashed forward beside me, and I grinned.

 

**…**

 

Adrenaline did not slow down time, or your perception of it. I’d almost claim the opposite, because I barely knew what was going on beyond my sluggishly bleeding hand and the wards I was building with its magic. 

Just a little cut. Just a drop or two of blood was needed for these wards to flare to life, discoloring the air and making it impossible for anything less powerful than a _Sectumsempra_ to get through. I had to mutter in old Celtic, just like when I did the damn flower ritual.

At the same time, I heard Parkinson shriek and Lu laugh, him charging towards her. It was a very un-dignified thing to do, charging into a duel like a Muggle, but Lu always liked pissing others off like that. I’m sure he adored that I didn’t give a fuck about pureblood customs, and picked up a lot of his new cusses from me. (He had a problem with his brother, Edward, I think?)

And there were furious spells and hexes being thrown on Nathaniel’s side, and his cackling which normally sent chills up my spine, but now just comforted me. That meant he was doing well, and my wards were almost done.

“ _STUPEFY!”_

A thud on the ground, gasps from the audience. Lu got Parkinson, then. Good.

“Dodge this, Malfoy-”

“Zabini!”

“ _PROTEGO!”_

My voice was quiet, but I knew the audience heard me. “ _-caomhnaigh mo sampla fola agus-“_

A glance up showed Lu and Nathaniel pushing at Malfoy and Zabini, and a figure collapsed on the floor. I almost wanted to sneer; Parkinson was so damn _weak_ , why would she even be considered for this duel? Malfoy was doing rather well, shooting jinxes and curses when one of mine was about to close in on Zabini, who looked very pressured now.

My magic sunk into the shield positions I’d chosen. The indigo was shimmering, just about to form the shields I needed.

“ _Faoi mo draíocht, faoi mo neart, mise iarr bhur cliabhán do sciath mise!”_ I finished.

I looked up just in time to see Lu get a hex to the arm and cry out as boils sprouted all along his skin. He was almost Stunned if not for Nathaniel bodily grabbing him and shoving him behind one of my shields. Malfoy managed to catch Lu with some purple spell of some sort, something that had him clawing at his eyes and screaming.

I saw red.

“ _Expelliarmus Protego Contego Inferna!”_ I snarled, forcing Zabini and Malfoy to conjure shields and jump out of the way respectively.

Nathaniel was breathing hard, and his sleeves were a bit shredded. He smiled, though. “One full minute, Guinevere?”

“I was busy. Lu, stop touching at your eyes-”

“Stun him, he’ll be in pain until we can treat it.” Nathaniel said.

I nodded. “Lu-”

“Agh, shite, bollocks, just do it! Better win, this hurts, ergh-!”

“ _Stupefy._ ” Nathaniel intoned as a few hexes exploded on my shield and jarred at my magic.

I winced. “This one’s going down, I can feel it.”

Nathaniel nodded. “Two on two, now, Guinevere. This is easy.”

“Zabini’ll come after me, cover me, I’m going to get Malfoy after I levitate Lu out of the way.”

This shield was about to go down. Nothing went through them, yes, but that was because things were absorbed _into_ them. It could only take so much before it dissolved and dispersed, and because of the blood magic I did — not enough that anyone would really object, because this was quite a well-known Light ward that wasn’t technically illegal — it would hurt me when it went. Nathaniel jumped out from behind the invisible bit, which he only knew because we practiced this fucking formation of wards extensively, and I cast a _Wingardium Leviosa_ on Lu so he’d be safe on the side.

Then I backed away, to the second shield, and muffled a cry as the first broke on Zabini’s _Depulso._

Nathaniel did some disgustingly powerful thing with mist that seemed to scald the two boys — I was sure there was some Darker variant of that, probably found in some foul book or other — and I stepped out from behind the shield. Quick steps, barely a sound on the stone, and then my wand was flashing with red and blue and violet, _Stupefy_ and _Protego_ and _Arresto Momentum._

Zabini met my spells with shields and bodily pulled Malfoy out of the way. I heard Nathaniel snarl in frustration.

“ _Flipendo!”_ Malfoy sent at me.

I cast a _Protego_ and started hurling Stunners and Disarming Charms and Tripping Jinxes his way, starting off small with how my magic was drained from the wards that Nathaniel and I were ducking behind. The best part was that Malfoy and Zabini had no idea where they were, and we were disorienting them enough that they’d be hard-pressed to figure it out. Nathaniel was firing things that were Grey and Dark-Grey without abandon, grinning as he did, the incantations mere mutters from his lips. Very skilled, this one, but more than that, very creative and quick to pull back if he thought they might attack at all.

“ _Bombarda!”_ Zabini intoned.

It was sucked into the second barrier. I smirked. “Getting violent, are we?”

“ _Fumos,”_ Nathaniel responded, making the smoke-mist thing again.

I held my breath out of habit. Harper’s potion experiments tended to be violent and looked a lot like this smoke. Glancing at Nate, I jerked my head at the general direction where random shots of light were coming from.

He grinned. “ _Anemos,_ ” he whispered, but his wand movement was jerky — he had gotten hit somewhere on his wand arm, shit — and suddenly the smoke was blasted towards our opponents.

I pointed my wand at Malfoy. “ _Fulgari!”_

“ _Incarcerous!”_ Nathaniel followed as soon as he’d gotten his magic back under control.

Ropes shot out of his wand and latched onto Zabini, tightening as the boy yelped and struggled. Cords did the same to Malfoy’s arms, and he was surprised enough that his wand fell from his hands. Nathaniel stalked towards Zabini with a predatory grin, and I cast a Leg-Locking Jinx on Malfoy and watched him fall dispassionately.

Then my wand began to break down my barriers — they would crumble slowly upon my order — and I stood above Malfoy with a grin. He was still struggling, but an _Accio_ had his wand in my other hand. Nathaniel had spelled blisters onto Zabini’s hands so his own wand would fall, and he did the same. He was in a right state, but he’d distracted them enough so I could protect from spellfire and keep myself secure.

“Yield, Malfoy.” I said with a very smug smile.

His cool, grey eyes were widened with outrage, sharp face contorted into anger. He was still struggling.

I wanted to roll my eyes. I glanced at Nathaniel. “Stun Zabini.”

“Gladly. _Stupefy._ ”

Zabini went limp in his bindings, Stunned by his own wand. Quite insulting, actually. And it left Malfoy with no allies in the _Duabus ex tribus_ , and me with one. Lu and Parkinson could technically be Rennervated and up to fight again, but Malfoy didn’t have his wand and I wanted to check on Lu’s eyes later, before he started scratching at them.

“Your choice, Malfoy. You could dislocate your shoulders and try to get your wand from me, wait for the Leg-Locking to wear off. I didn’t cast it very powerfully. Or you yield, both to my victory and my reign, and I won’t have to shatter your wrists.”

_Thrymmatizus._ Greek spell, crafted for the purpose of shattering bones inside the body, but making sure they didn’t pierce anything. Just to make them unable to heal correctly (naturally) afterwards. A precursor to the Inside-Out Curse.

I’m sure we looked imposing. Nathaniel was one of the Darkest kids in Slytherin, with a very villainous smile and dark, empty eyes. Standing to my left, he smiled at Malfoy with that entirely creepy grin on his face. And then I had Malfoy’s wand in my left hand, and my right hand pointing my own elder-and-dragon at him, threatening to break his wrists with cold eyes and an amused tilt to my mouth. Yes, we were some fucked up children.

But if this was what I had to do to protect me and mine, now and in the future, that was alright.

(Fate demanded something of me, but I didn’t give a flying fuck. These people, my people, were worth the world to me.)

I saw the moment the fight left him. His struggles stopped. He didn’t bow his head, but it was close. 

“I yield, _regina potestae parvae._ ”

Queen of the lesser control. That had a lovely ring to it.

“My win, _rex sine corona._ ” I said, sealing the tradition of succession through might.

King without a crown.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, so the updates are gonna be in the afternoons/evenings of Tuesday for sure, since I'm back to school and work. D': And I'm still editing Chapter 27 and it's getting close, so I honestly might have to skip that week and furiously try to catch up. :P
> 
> But! Here's some Lyssie stressing about her position -- it's not all fun and games, after all! -- and some other shit. And I promise, as parvus potesta reigning, it's not all chores. But she's transitioning, so she has a lot of shit to do before she really feels the benefits.
> 
> Anyways. Thanks for reading and commenting! XD I love getting comments, I really do. If I don't reply, it's because I honestly don't know how to, not that I'm ignoring you in particular or something. :D

 

**…**

 

That Nathaniel was the only one that managed to stay awake in History of Magic apparently made him offended.

“Honestly, you should all be celebrating. You can’t look so out of place after you’ve finally gotten your _parvus potesta._ ” he said chidingly, walking on my left — Harper was too sleepy to give a damn — as we all went to lunch.

I gave him a look. “Nathaniel. We’ve been kings for a _week_ and I’ve slept twenty hours total.”

“Excuses, excuses, Guinevere.” Nathaniel replied singingly.

“Twenty hours. That’s less than three hours a night, Nathaniel, you realize this?”

Dietrich was suddenly there. “Twenty hours? Lys, you promised you’d get eight yesterday!”

I twitched. “Yes, but then I had to meet with Josephine and start up the upper-lower tutoring and draw up schedules again, and then she scolded me for not knowing all the first-years by name, and then I had to go memorize those and try to profile them inconspicuously. Also, we had to work out how to keep her fourths under her because they were a little loyal to Malfoy.”

“I thought you took care of the fourths with yesterday’s duel?” Lu asked, yawning.

(His eyes had been cleared by Josephine, by the way. An old Zabini trick, apparently. We’d been warned about it, but Josephine thought it wasn’t likely her cousin would use it. Her mistake, but it wasn’t that bad. Lu just had some cuts around his eyes for a while; the scabs were already peeling away.)

“That was just Eades, and he was an idiot.” Harper piped up cheerfully, “Even worse than Haigh.” Harper turned doleful eyes on me. “You should’ve let me duel Eades, Lyssie. There are bags under your eyes.”

“If Madam Pomfrey saw you, she’d probably lock you away, and then where would we be without our queen?” Jay said, smiling a little.

“I trust you all to break me out.” I muttered.

“And risk Madam Promfrey? Sorry, Lys, not even for you. There’s a reason Josephine Zabini wrote that no one would save you if anyone decided to piss off the dragon-lady.” Lu said, grinning.

Dietrich make a frustrated sound. “Lys! You are forgetting the point! This is not healthy! Where are your nutrient supplements and iron supplements?” He started at me, opening my bag and rooting around inside.

I yelped and swatted his hands away. “Oi, none of that, now! You’re lucky I didn’t ward my bag today!”

“You can’t do things like that in public, Dietrich,” Nathaniel remarked with a smirk, “Wait until the privacy of your rooms, if you please.”

He narrowed his eyes at Nathaniel, and pulled out two small vials, one a moss green like Jay’s colors and the other a red like my hair, and scowled. “ _Salaud dégoûtante._ I do not even know why you are still here. You will be treated well, but you have no business staying with our circle.”

Nathaniel put on an innocent, wide-eyed look that didn’t look remotely sincere. “Why are you so mean to me Dietrich? I just want to help.”

“Yourself, maybe.” Lu muttered.

“Lys is going to scold you if you start again.” Jay reprimanded them all casually.

The rest of the conversation between those four was lost as Dietrich started to try to forcefully pour potions down my throat. I squirmed and swatted him away, snarling at him, “Stop being such a mum, I’m fine! I’ll catch up on sleep and whatnot when our _potesta_ is taken care of!”

“Our _potesta_ will collapse without you,” Dietrich retorted, still reaching for my face with one hand and my iron supplement in the other, “I am your Second. I am there to make sure you do not collapse at all.”

“Drowning Lyssie isn’t going to help, Dietrich.” Lu said with a roll of his eyes, breaking from the small spat between Jay and Nathaniel (not that Jay was an arguing-type, but still — Nathaniel liked to rile up the calm types).

“If we could refrain from killing me before before I set our House to rights, I would appreciate it.” I added on dryly.

“I’m curious, Guinevere-”

I jumped. “For fuck’s sake, Nate, don’t sneak up on people! Especially sleep-deprived Dark witches!”

Harper gasped. “You _swore_ , Lyssie!”

Lu was gaping. “Why is _his_ nickname better than mine??”

“Lyssie, the fact that you’re admitting you’re sleep-deprived isn’t going to calm Dietrich down.” Jay sighed.

“Stop! No nicknames! Wilkes is temporary!” Dietrich protested.

“Oh? You admit you’re Dark?” Nathaniel asked, a bit excited.

Ergh, I hated it when they all spoke at once, about different things. “Yes, I swear, Harper. We’ve been over this. The nickname was whim, how do you expect me to say ‘Nathaniel’ over and over, honestly? Why do you think I shorten everything to single and double syllables? And of course I’ll say I’m Dark, it’s not like I keep it a secret.”

“You never answered me, you know. Does your family know you’re Dark?” he asked.

I glanced at him. We were just entering the Great Hall for lunch, and I saw a gaggle of red-heads at the Gryffindor table that could only be my brothers. I glanced at them consideringly, then I turned to Nathaniel.

“They probably know.” I said with a shrug, “It’s not like I hide the fact that I’m a damn good Slytherin from them. Say what you will about the faults of stereotypes, but ambition is simply desire for power. That normally indicates a certain will to dominate, which means Dark.”

We were at our table, our favorite spot nestled in the middle. It would be useful now, since I had to constantly hold court and allow my _potesta_ to approach me for whatever they needed. I’d had so many fuckers come up to me, voicing complaints they didn’t dare bring up to Malfoy and everything was a bloody mess. Malfoy fucked his _potesta_ up so badly that Josephine was barely holding her own _potesta_ together — “Sheer fucking will, Guinevere,” she told me, shaking her head somberly — and I had to fix it.

I didn’t want this damn seat, I had so many other things to do, but I’d do it. I take responsibility for what’s mine. My _potesta_ wasn’t even nearly in the range of me and mine, but they were looking to me to fix what Malfoy broke, so I’d do it. And if I happened to draw young wizards and witches away from Malfoy and the bigger Death Eater names, that was a bonus that I would capitalize on when the war came.

Lu and Harper were digging into lunch with gusto. Dietrich and Jay were a bit more elegant about it. They were- _We_ were all tired. They didn’t get as little sleep and rest as I did, but they had to cover for me. 

Dietrich had to forge my handwriting on assignments as I lectured about them while I drew up plans and profiles for my _potesta._ Lu and Harper often took on the duels that were issued to challenge me, since I was still just establishing my rule. Jay was doing a bit of both, and still keeping an eye on Nathaniel, who I didn’t trust to do anything but information gathering and support for now.

We were flagging, and it pissed me off, but if we could pull through… just a few months of this, of establishing a true _potesta_ and finding someone to groom into my position so I could safely take the _magnus_ if I needed to. Which I hoped I didn’t, but if Malfoy made a mess of it and left his control hanging like this one, I would feel the responsibility to.

“Why the _fuck_ did I take the _parvus_ in the first place?” I asked myself.

“Because you have the self preservation of a lemming.” Dietrich said flatly, eyeing the iron supplement in his hands that he hadn’t gotten me to take yet.

“Because you want us to succeed?” Harper said questioningly.

“‘Cos you think Malfoy’s a git — which he is — and wanted to take him out.” Lu added.

“And you were tired of all of us being snubbed for following you, as a bloodtraitor.” Jay said.

“Plus,” Nathaniel contributed, “you enjoy winning. And having a bloodtraitor sit on the _parvus_ throne when there’s a Malfoy in the control is a very nice win, indeed.”

I groaned.

“Head’s up,” Lu said suddenly, “we’ve got Weasleys.”

“Which ones?” I muttered, cheek resting on the table and Harper and Jay patting my back gently and with much concern.

“Twins.” Nathaniel laughed.

“Oh dear god, they know already, don’t they?” I sighed.

Fred came gallivanting up, skip in his step and smirk on his face. “Lyssie! Dear sister-”

George was only a step behind. “-why didn’t you tell us?”

“You’re the _parvus potesta_ leader!”

“Congratulations!”

“Brava!”

“We pay homage to the queen of snakes.” they said together.

Then Fred winked. “One of them, at least.”

Lu looked stupefied. “How do they do it? At the same time, the same tone…”

Harper grinned excitedly. “Can you teach us?”

Oh god. Harper and Lu running around like the demon twins… Lu with his craze for Quidditch and Harper with his legendary ability to fuck up spells so hard that they hurt… Oh god, no, I wouldn’t be able to take it.

“Nate, luv, be a dear and intimidate them away.”

Nathaniel chuckled. “My dear Guinevere, there are some people in this world who simply are too pure or too insane for my usual tricks. Harper is in the former, and Lovegood and your twin brothers in the latter.”

I wondered where I was in that scale, since the kid never bothered with trying to get under my skin. Probably the latter. The fact that I thought taking a leadership role after the idiocy of Malfoy was proof enough of my insanity. Goddamn Dark Arts were driving me Mad early.

“So, mini-queen-” Fred started.

“How is it, being the _parvus_ reigning?” George finished with a grin and a bow.

“Do you not see her?” Dietrich asked, brow raised. “Lys has not been sleeping or eating properly. I have not been able to force-feed her the nutrient and iron supplement she received from Professor Snape.”

“I’m busy!” I snapped, “That stuff makes you groggy, I don’t have time for that!”

“Hm, hm, hm. Looks like our littlest sister is being moody.” George sighed.

“Just like Gin.” Fred added.

“Well, then, Your Highness, we shall grovel at your feet another time-”

“-when you don’t look like you’re about to Bat-Bogey someone-”

“-just like a certain Gryffindor we know.”

“You’re just like her-”

“-even look alike and everything!”

“You might be twins!” they chorused.

I snorted, rolling my eyes. How Mum managed to be legitimately angry at the twins so often was beyond me. “Alright, alright, you cheered me up, you stupid big brothers. Get back to your table, I’ll catch up with you later, yeah? I’ve got to repair Slytherin after Malfoy bollocks’ed it up, but it shouldn’t take more than two months.”

Fred and George glanced at each other. Then George stepped forward, giving me a serious look. “Little sister, take care of yourself. Mum would go mad if she saw you now. Perce and Ron were tempted to Stun you as soon as you walked in.”

“We talked them out of it.” Fred threw in.

I smiled, amused. “Thanks for that. Alright, if even _you two_ are telling me to take it easy.”

“Why, Lyssie-”

“-we always care about your health!”

“Oh, shove off.” I said playfully.

They grinned and bowed in unison again, proclaiming their loyalty to the queen of snakes, and then skipped away back to Gryffindor. I felt much calmer after they popped over, which I was sure they did on purpose, and I sighed. I held my hand out to Dietrich.

“Supplements.” I said.

“ _Enfin!_ Here.” he sighed, giving me the vials.

“Get me the Headache Relief, too? It’s blue… and I’m going to need it.” I grumbled.

Looks like my September and October would be repairing Malfoy’s two years of damage. If I didn’t already dislike the little fuck, I swear.

 

**…**

 

“Here’s your Pepperup, dear.” Madam Pomfrey said with a small smile.

“Thanks,” I muttered, grimacing as I took the disgusting thing like a shot. (Goddamn, I missed alcohol. _Goddamn,_ I missed it.) I valiantly held back the need to shudder, too.

“Wait here for a bit, Miss Weasley. I have your supply of iron supplement.”

I nodded, and laid back on my bed, closing my eyes and picturing all the fucking work I still had to do. When three firsties burst into the Wing in hysterics, one of them sprouting wings from all sorts of odd places, I sighed. Hufflepuffs. Madam Pomfrey would be busy with them for a while.

My boys knew to start our homework without me. Harper especially needed help with Transfiguration, which was a strong point of Nathaniel’s. They’d push Charms to the end so I could help there, hopefully get Defense and Astronomy out of the way since I was good on those subjects- _Oh, and the other Hufflepuffs started hiccuping fire, lovely-_ but my boys would probably take the Quidditch break, too.

(It was in the schedule. Harper needed a break, and Lu did too. Plus, Jay and Dietrich and Nate got all pissy when they didn’t take breaks now, because I’d inadvertently trained us all to be on a very break-dispersed schedule.)

Well. In any case: not a problem. I had my damn paper work _with_ me. Thank Merlin for Featherlight Charms.

There were many tittering voices and Madam Pomfrey vainly trying to help them and soothe them all at once. I snorted when one of them started swearing with language even _I_ was a little amazed at, screaming about things growing from places he didn’t even know were there. But most of my attention was on my notes, where I was trying to wrangle up an agreement between Josephine and my third-years that they could agree upon for tutoring hours, since the fourth-years had been in charge of that but now they were gone, whisked away to be taken care of my Josephine’s people. Fucking power vacuums all over the place, and I was relatively sure one of the third-years — the most vocal one — was making a scene on orders of their father, who was under Malfoy Sr.’s influence…

“Merlin, Lys, you look knackered.”

I glanced up in surprise. “Harry? What’re you doing here?”

He was standing between my bed and his, looking at me curiously with those unreal green eyes of his. He grinned a little, shrugging. “Quidditch practice got a little rough, I suppose. Fred — or George? — clipped me with a Bludger, Wood started fretting, so here I am. Madam Pomfrey looks a bit busy, though.”

We both eyed the corner of the Wing where that one Hufflepuff was still cussing up a storm, the other seemed just feathers and hysterical laughing/screaming, and the last was starting to sneeze fire along with the hiccuping. Madam Pomfrey was having a hell of a time trying to keep them quiet and fix them up, but they were making it difficult. We turned back to each other, snickering at the — frankly — stupid scene.

I twisted around and pulled my knees up on the bed, patting the spot next to me. Harry sat down, with a smile, and we had to hold back our snorts when Madam Pomfrey started shoving kids into beds and roaring at them, complete with Stinging Hexes and everything.

He nudged my shoulder as Madam Pomfrey started lecturing and ranting.

“What, Potter?” I said, grinning.

“What’re you in for this time, Lys?” he asked, similarly smiling.

I rolled my eyes. “Pepperup. And my iron supplements. She’s probably going to push nutrient supplements and Headache Relief and whatever else onto me, too.” I eyed him critically. “You might also want some. Nutrient supplements, anyways.”

Harry tensed, just barely. “What d’you mean?”

I looked away, taking attention away from him, shrugging. 

(I could say something about how Ron desperately learned how to cook this summer, with me alongside him so he wouldn’t laze around or slack off — by _his_ request, because Ron needed to send food to Harry. I could say something about how Fred and George’s faces always grimaced when their ‘rescue’ of Harry was brought up last summer, when I talked about Harry’s relatives, when I wondered aloud why there were bars on his window and locks on his door in my visions. I could even say something about how Harry was small and skinny for his age, about how he ate frantically but never a lot, about lots of signs like that.)

(I could say a lot of things.)

_Flinching backwards, green eyes filled with hurt — “I hate living here!” — wards, crimson and rippling, mother’s protection — “He must be taken willingly, if hesitantly. It will be a hard life, but-” — shadows crawling up the walls, smiling, chance ?? — away from his home and his protection, letters in the claws of owls with dark feathers and magic pulsing in the paper like a heartbeat — “The Boy Who Lived is vulnerable now!”_

_Stop._

_Accusing — “I can deal with it, Lys!” — hurt, flinching away, not right — “You’re one of-” “You don’t have the right, Lys. You don’t have the right-” — gentle smile, hand on her head, fingers tangled in dark crimson locks — ??? — can’t help him this way, what do I do?” “Aren’t you helping now?”_

_Stop._

_Ron burst into her room, she looked up in surprise. “Lyssie! You make that Harper bloke concentrate on school, yeah?” — Harper grinning, wand pointed at a successfully levitated — “Yeah, why?” “Mum’s teaching me how to cook, get down here!” “Haaah? Why should I?” — ??? — don’t push too hard, that’s how a Gryffindor would do it. Gentle, you know, that’s better-_

_Stop._

_“Do you want to come and live with me?” — ??? — rat’s tail disappearing behind the covers, orange cat pouncing and hissing — “SCABBERS!” — moon, full and round in the sky, warm wind for Scotland and dewy grass making her feet slip-_

_Stop._

He would despise me for bringing his background to light. And that would just make me push harder — I know how I am. I could push and manipulate and push, probably abusing the shit out of my Sight to do it, hurting myself, and then Harry would be taken from his blood wards and put in danger. And if I wasn’t mistaken, I’d just been warned that… that what I, and Ron, was doing… it was enough, somehow.

Because, really, I just wanted to protect me and mine. Make sure they were happy. Harry would be happier with our quiet support than with a flashy move like taking him away from the Dursleys right now. That vision, though… Maybe… Maybe Sirius Black could do something, at the end of all this. But it was his right, not mine.

(A choice was presented. I was being warned of a choice I was making, even if I didn’t understand it. Stupid Clairvoyance, so cryptic and shitty.)

I swallowed my contemplation and grinned at Harry,

“Well, you’re a midget compared to the rest of your age group, so I figured you’d need _something_ to catch you up to my beanpole of a brother, yeah?”

Harry looked extremely offended.

It had me laughing, that expression.

“What’re you looking at me like that for?” I laughed helplessly.

Harry scowled. “You’re one to talk, Lyssie. You’re _tiny_ compared to Ginny.”

I smiled in response. A lifetime of short jokes taught me better than to get all riled up for something like this. “Mum and Dad like to say that I got all the recessive genes.”

Which was true. When I first popped up in this world, I noted that I sorta looked like a mix of Ginny and my previous incarnation; it how I justified how dark my hair was, my slightly darker skin, my shortness, the roundness of my face and the softness of my features. But my parents had a different explanation for me, involving my magic and Seers and ancestry. There hadn’t been a naturally Dark-cored Weasley or Prewett in ages before me, and none as powerful as me. The theory was that my magic was so deeply connected to my physical body — as evidenced by how it bloody punished me when I overused it — that I took on features that would normally be hiding in the DNA, features that echoed the ancestors whose magic was closest to mine: Dark-cored, powerful, perhaps Seers, etc.

So. Basically, my magic took after different ancestors, and that similarity bled into my physical features, too.

(I looked like Helvynya Prevett, funnily enough. Minus the black eyes. My eyes were _all_ Dad’s, thank Merlin.)

Or, the story of how I was never going to reincarnate into a proper white person. Hah.

“Are you feeling better, Lys?”

I blinked at the sudden concern welling in my friend’s bright eyes. “Come again?”

Harry fidgeted a little. “Ah, well. You know. When Ron and Hermione and I, when we came to wish you luck on the duel… You looked sort of… lost? I guess is the word? Distracted. Thought you were nervous, or something, before the duel.”

“Well, I haven’t slept much,” I answered lightly, Occluding sudden images of a crumbling bust of a friend, a last smile, and a painful throb of grief in my chest away, “Not only do I have to keep up with my school work and private projects-” _Fuck you very much, Helvynya Prevett._ “-I also have to adhere to a strict schedule to make time for Harper and Lu’s flying, keep an eye on Nate, tutor the boys, see my siblings, go over old paperwork from before and after Malfoy was _parvus_ reigning, and then edit all that to suit mine and Josephine’s purposes.”

Throughout my impromptu rant, Harry kept his eyes trained on mine, listening and studying. He had a really intense stare, this one; I imagine that when he’s older, when the war kicks in and everything _really_ begins, it’ll only get stronger, more piercing. Signs of a good leader, I’d like to think; or at least, one in the making. A good teacher, too.

(He’d be both, one day.)

( _Funny,_ I thought absently, _this is the person I am going to follow to war._ To be perfectly honest, I couldn’t see it yet.)

(Yet.)

And then Harry had to prove me wrong immediately, by stating bluntly, “You’re trying to distract me by dangling all this information in front of me, aren’t you?” He smiled wryly at me. “This is why you’re always teaching me something, because you always make me ask questions.”

My knee-jerk reaction was, of course, to deny such a thing-

Harry chuckled. “Lys, you might not _mean_ to do it, but you’re such a Slytherin, you manipulate people anyways. Which I guess is alright, since you’ve got that ‘Puff loyalty and Gryffindor nobility thing going for you, yeah?”

I rolled my eyes at his teasing. “Well, you know me, Potter. Slytherin queen and all. Malfoy’s had this horrible constipated look on his face since I won my duel, you know, because both _potesta_ leaders are girls who really pissed on his parade. Misogynistic little git.”

Harry’s brows rose. “You’re doing it again. The distracting thing.” He sighed, leaning back on his arms, giving me a faintly exasperated look. “It’s alright if you don’t want to tell me about what’s troubling you, Lys. You snakes need your secrets.”

I smiled faintly in his direction.

(Secrets. Chamber. Tom Riddle. Color thief.)

It really… just wasn’t a good idea for me to be spouting off about how much I missed a dead villain. Tom Riddle hadn’t been a good person. A hurt one, yes, and a very confused one, _yes_ , but the little git had intended to bloody _Imperio_ me and have me kill Dietrich! He also got Harry stabbed and Hermione petrified and drained the magic out of Malfoy. And it had been an entire summer since then, I’d only gotten my head out of my arse and stopped worrying about Dietrich halfway through it.

I had _moved on_ , dammit. Gotten _Sollertia Augurium_ , took over the Slytherin _parvus potesta_ , took time to very much avoid the dementors skulking around the school — being guilty and grieving because of Tom _fucking_ Riddle was something I didn’t need or want right now.

_Because I was weak?_

_No, because I was._

(Weak, he called it. Weak, for not having the will to kill me. Weak, for wanting someone by his side, when he _despised_ people. Weak, for wanting a friend.)

Haha… this really wasn’t a good idea. But Harry had that look on his face, a leader’s look, and he was smiling a little and, really, if there was anyone who wouldn’t be quietly disgusted or completely lacking in understanding about it all…

“I made a friend out of a monster,” I said quietly, “But before I could decide whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, the monster died. So now I want to think the best of him, because I miss him, but I need to think the worst of him, because if he were here, there’s a very real chance I wouldn’t be.”

Harry went quiet and still. “You’re talking about Tom Riddle.”

I laughed bitterly. “What does one do, when someone who loves you dies?”

“Miss them.”

I…

“I meant for that to be rhetorical, Potter.” I said weakly.

Harry smiled. “You’re putting too much thought into it, you know. Take it from me, Lys… When someone you love dies, you just… miss them. You thank them, too, for making you happy while they were with you. And then… you go on. You’ll always miss them, though. That’s… That’s just how it is, I suppose.”

(So. This was what Harry thought of his parents, then. Not entirely organized or complete with closure, but for a thirteen-year-old… those were some wise words. Wise and just a little heartbreaking, really, because… because I don’t think he knew, really, how to put into words how it felt to love someone so fiercely only to know that they were beyond your reach. It wasn’t the same, really. Harry’s longing for his parents and my missing my friend, it wasn’t the same.)

(But it really… really, really sort of… was?)

My lips twitched. (I forced them to twitch.) “You are actually rubbish at this comforting people thing, aren’t you?” He sent a small and unheated glare my way. I barked out a little laugh, shaking my head. I huffed. “Who said I loved the Dark Git, anyway?”

Harry shrugged. “He was important to you, yeah? Made you happy.”

“That… is an odd way to describe the past Dark Lord.”

“Well, I don’t really think I’m talking about Voldemort, really. Tom Riddle was… different. You made him different, Lys.”

_Well, isn’t that the thing, though? I don’t think I made him anything at all,_ I thought.

(It wasn’t me that made him human. He already was. I just… brought it out, a little.)

Harry went on, “He was your friend. Might’ve been a git… a monster, I suppose, but you don’t miss that. You miss how he made you happy, right? Nothing wrong with that, Lys. You overthink things, really.”

I felt a smile coming onto my face, one that wouldn’t be held back. “You’re the wisest thirteen-year-old I’ve ever met. I don’t reckon I need to teach you anything at all at this point, Harry.” I grinned at his forming protests, silencing them with a, “Thanks.”

He beamed back at me. “Anytime, Lys.”

Anytime, even though it was _my friend_ who poisoned him and petrified Hermione and went on to become the Dark Lord who murdered the people Harry had been missing his entire life. Anytime, even though he had all the reason in the world to hate Tom Riddle and so did I, really. Anytime, even though he was a thirteen-year-old with the world weighing on his shoulders and I was a twelve-year-old reincarnation that should’ve known better.

“He used to call me ridiculous. It was his way of rolling his eyes at me.” I said conversationally.

_You are ridiculous, Guinevere._

“You _do_ pull off a lot of impossible or dangerous things, you know.” Harry said, rolling his eyes. 

“Hello pot, my name is kettle.”

“Shut up, Lys.” Harry grinned a bit. “You said he taught you healing?”

I nodded. “That, and wards. For a sociopath, he was _bloody_ brilliant. Taught me a lot of shortcuts for wards, especially the ritual-esque ones, and I know a few techniques for healing so I don’t have so hard of a time with my Dark core, and all.”

“And I suppose you had to trade something for that.” _Because Slytherins_ , is what Harry meant.

I grinned. “Of course! Did I tell you about the time he-”

And, really, wasn’t it sad that Harry was using my own technique against me? Asking questions that led to long-winded answers, distracting me but trying to help at the same time. I don’t know how he knew — maybe he _didn’t_ know and was just going on instinct, which was far more likely now that I thought about it — but my thoughts were stifled with grief, backed up with negative emotions because I just _had no outlet._ Dementors everywhere perpetuated it all, my weakened Occlumency prevented a mental outlet, and no one I knew would want to talk me through my ridiculousness…

Alby, maybe, but the man was busy. The man had a thousand other things to do; that we managed to meet up so often when I was younger was a bloody miracle, really. And I suppose Harry, now, too.

I’d owe this boy a lot after this was done, wouldn’t I?

“-get this straight, he made fun of all your friends?”

“He was a git. Of course he did.”

“And you still liked him?”

“It’s not like he could _do_ anything about it. And it’s not like I didn’t tease him, either! I bought a bunch of neon colored ink and dumped it in the diary, once, you know, and he _definitely_ knew that it wasn’t an accident-”

“You poured glittery ink on the Heir of Slytherin?”

“Yes, and-”

I… told stories. I told stories about why I missed Tom Riddle so much, and _Harry listened_ , and we laughed about it together. No mention of the Chamber, of the framing of Hagrid, of the basilisk; just… remembering the reasons I missed the guy, the reasons I made him one of mine despite everything else. It felt… nice.

“-bonded over our shared dislike of flying, actually-”

“ _You don’t like flying?”_

“…You say this like I’ve committed perjury or stolen your firstborn or something.”

That distractedness, that tiredness that came with nightmares caused by weak Occlumency barriers… it felt like it was leaving. It felt like I didn’t need to be guilty about his death anymore, because someone — even just _one person_ — knew the Tom that I knew, understood _why_ he’d been important enough to me that I imprinted his colors in mine.

“Lys, this is even _worse_.”

“…This is why Tom and I made fun of Harper and Lu, you know. Especially Lu. Broomstick nuts, both of you.”

It felt like closure.

(When I drifted back down to Slytherin after showing Harry how to heal his own bruised ribs, my boys greeted me with grins and nods and smiles and we got back down to work after filing the papers I’d done. Jay and Dietrich had peered at me after a moment or two, but Dietrich snorted — there was a bit of smug relief in his eyes, and oh god, I could understand Dietrich well enough to tell _that_ through his poker face — and Jay beamed more brightly.

“What?” I asked.

“You look a _lot_ better.” said Jay, “Did Madam Pomfrey make you sleep?”

Dietrich nodded. “You look much more rested, Lys.”

I smiled a little. “Something like that.”)

 

**…**

 

 

Of course, it’s two steps forward and one step back for me.

Born into a world of magic and a loving family? Well, get fucked kid, your family’s gonna die. Have the support of your Gryffindor family despite being in Slytherin? Sucks to suck, you’re going to be low-key bullied for a year before you have the strength to put them in their place. Save twin sister from the basilisk and get a pretty kick-ass Horcrux quasi-friend? Get fucked _again_ , Malfoy and Dietrich are taken and your quasi-friend’s gotta go.

Oh, and let’s not forget: Take over Slytherin and get a session of impromptu grief-counseling from a cool thirteen-year-old? Fuck you, Lyssie, Gryffindor Tower gets ‘attacked’ and now there’s dementors _fucking_ everywhere. 

Dementors. Fucking. _Everywhere._

“You’re being melodramatic.” scolded Dietrich.

I whirled on him, twitching. “Melodramatic? _Melodramatic??_ That fucking prick Sirius Black slashed up the Fat Lady on Halloween and now those bloody, cloaked _abominations_ are on the _fringes_ of my Mage Sight! Do you know what they look like, Dietrich? Do you know what they _sound_ like?”

“Is this not why you studied _The Magick of Man-Hunters,_ Lys? To control this more?”

“I haven’t even finished my paperwork! Stupid Lu and his stupid Quidditch, Flint’s snapped two brooms and I have to arrange for the blame to fall on the ‘Claw firsties because I owe Josephine a favor and-”

A hand laid on my shoulder. I blinked at it, following the arm, and saw Lu.

He gave me a serious and pitying look. “Lys, I think you’re going nutters.”

My other hand was snatched up by a cheerful Harper, who had made reserve Seeker just as Lu had made reserve Chaser. (I had mental notes made to have Warrington or Flint or Pucey have an _accident_ so Lu could finally play his bloody game. Might do the same for Malfoy, but Harper didn’t care for Quidditch as much as Lu did.)

Harper smiled brightly. “It works!”

I frowned. “What works?”

“You have a tendency to calm down when Lovegood holds your hand.” Nate remarked from behind me. (We were walking to Herbology, and Nate liked to walk behind us at a more sedate pace, usually with Dietrich next to him to keep an eye out.)

“I do?”

“Don’t you feel calmer, Lyssie?” Harper asked innocently, wiggling our joined hands around.

I gave him a wry smile. “I think it’s more the person than the hand-holding.”

“Which means if I were to hold your hand, you _wouldn’t_ be calmed?” Nate asked slyly.

“If you held her hand, I would _Diffindo_ it off, Wilkes.” sneered Dietrich.

“As if _your_ spell would make it to my wrist, Bastion. Guinevere doesn’t even trust you to duel, does she? The only ones who’ve dueled for our position so far are me, Harper, Vaisey, and our _regina_ of course. Pathetic-”

“Do. _not_. make me come back there.” I hissed, the irritation goaded on by the sudden _filth_ on the edges of my Mage Sight.

If I hadn’t met Baldwin of the Brotherhood of Mirrors already, it’d be surprising how _disgusting_ dementors’ colors were. My Mage Sight’s stronger sense was the ocular, of course, so I Saw the dementors before I heard or felt them; they were shattered glass and broken bones, rotten _something_ that melted and frayed and fluctuated colors, tinged with black and browns with textures like oil and skin so dry it was cracking. They were fucking _ice,_ too, and I already felt cold as we descended the grounds towards the greenhouses.

My grip on Harper’s hand must’ve bordered on painful, I realized suddenly, and I yanked my fingers from his without thinking about it. “Sorry,” I murmured, gritting my teeth and wondering whether I should pull my Mage Sight back completely — I’d be able to _feel_ them, with how cold it was, and it’d make me antsy if I couldn’t detect them properly, too — “They’re really, really close. It makes me want to start throwing _Incendio’_ s around or something.”

“Do dementor cloaks burn, do you think?” Lu asked, carefully glancing where I was grimacing and twirling his wand in his fingers.

“Question!” Harper piped up.

“Answer.” Dietrich replied.

“If dementors are Dark, why wouldn’t they feel welcoming to Lyssie? And Nate and Jay?”

(Because we three were pure Dark, Dietrich was a rare Grey bastard, and Harper was Grey-Light. You could tell by the way the colors moved, the shades and the personality.)

“Those filthy creatures aren’t Dark,” answered Dietrich with a distasteful tilt to his mouth, “Labeled that way because your _gouvernement britannique ridicule_ is so frightened and ignorant, they label everything that is not to their liking as Dark. _Parfois je me demande pourquoi j'ai choisi de venir dans ce pays.”_

“They’re not Dark creatures?” Harper asked.

“Answer,” I called this time, deciding to narrow my Mage Sight range (so at least I’d _know_ if one of those billowy motherfuckers was coming), “They’re, as I said, abominations. They’re not natural, you know? _Lethifolds_ are Dark creatures. _Brightstalkers_ are Dark creatures.” I grimaced. “Breed the two together, feed the surviving offspring on human souls, stick a ritual or two in there, and the rotted corpse’s maggots metamorphosed into the first dementors, which bred more of its kind with a bit of egging on by our then-Dark magical government.”

“Feudal age, yes?” Nate asked.

“Quasi-government, then.” I corrected, “The rituals have been wiped out of history, by the way. No one wants anyone making more dementors, since the Ministry regulates the other way. Bloody miracle they still have a vague sense of loyalty to their ‘creators’. That or a couple of slave rituals or something, which would only make them _more_ terrifyingly hungry for human souls.”

Harper looked a bit pale. “That’s… horrifying.”

“I hate these damn things.” I murmured.

Harper fiddled with his fingers and sleeves, glanced about, and then darted out to take my hand again. I frowned in confusion, but he just smiled, with made me relax a little. Tch. I think they were right about the calming effects of hand-holding, though. How embarrassing.

But Luna looked quite pleased when we walked into the greenhouses — where, _thank fucking fuck,_ I couldn’t feel the tinge of cold from the dementors, _thank you Sprout!_ — and she and Harper had an odd, silent staring contest where their blue eyes would occasionally flicker down to look at my hands. I had the feeling that if this weren’t such a practical, hands-on class, I would’ve had my two most childish and Light friends sandwiching me with their fingers tangled with mine.

( _Why is this my life?_ I mouthed to Dietrich as we were repotting the Feringulus Figs.

He only raised a very amused brow. _It’s not like you’re unhappy with it._

_…Very true._ )

It was while I was gleefully setting fire to the magical parasite thingies — Ackerly Ticks, I think they were called — that loved attaching themselves to the Figs’ roots like cocooning caterpillars that Luna brushed her shoulder against mine in greeting. I gave her a quick smile and then turned and gave the Ticks a much more vicious one, grinning when my next _Incendio Tria_ split into a bunch of little, wispy, blue flames and made the Ticks pop with heat.

They were no dementors, I suppose, but I felt satisfied killing them anyways.

“Annoyed at the monsters in the dark?” Luna asked lightly.

I frowned. “Those, and the Minister letting them come _closer_ when it’s _entirely probable_ that people with magical sensitivity-” _Like Snape and Harry._ “-will be able to feel them. Bloody emotion-manipulators in a school full of _teenagers_ and children, not to mention, they’re not even doing their job since that Sirius prick got into Gryffindor Tower anyways.”

Not that I gave a damn about that, since I knew Sirius wasn’t here to kill anyone but a damn rat who I’d been ready to kill for _years_ , but whatever.

Luna sent me a sweet smile, though. “You’re a very, very kind queen, you know. Worrying about everyone even if they’re just shadows on the wall for you.”

Shadows on the wall was familiar, for some reason.

“What I worry about is the judgement of my nation’s leaders,” I muttered, “Being a leader has given me a new perspective. The perspective of: My god, Fudge _actually_ seems to have proven Darwin wrong and becoming living proof that survival isn’t _just_ for the fittest! How on earth that utter _buffoon_ was elected into office escapes me.”

“Didn’t I say, Guinevere? Fudge keeps Heliopaths and all sorts of horrid monsters in his closet. The Umbugular Slashkilters are especially nasty. If he infects everyone else with Loser’s Lurgy, then he automatically looks the best, doesn’t he?”

“…This speaks volumes of how corrupt our Ministry is, which really _pisses me off.”_

“That’s why Stubby Boardman never had a trial, don’t you think?”

“Stubby-?”

Ah, fuck. Sirius Black, right. That’s who she thought Sirius was, for some reason; though, really, Luna spoke in riddles and codes only _she_ fully understood, and it was the rare person that managed to break those codes and hear her true words. I was only about three-quarters of the way to true Luna-fluency, of course, which was saying something as I really had reason to believe I was Luna’s only friend, and wasn’t that a sad thought?

(“Don’t you get lonely, sometimes, Luna? I’m so sorry-”

A tinkling laugh. She smiled very, very softly. “I like the quiet, you know, Guinevere. I don’t like lots of people, all stomping and talking and spreading their nargles about. It’s not very beneficial. This is just fine, don’t you think? Fairiefiddles aren’t meant to be jostled together; they only touch hands when there’s something important to say, which is just as nice as when you’re nestled in your swarm to me. Don’t feel guilty about it, Guinevere! That’s the wrackspurts again.”

And, really, if that wasn’t Luna scolding me for apologizing for not being there for her the way I was for my boys, what was? It was a, ‘You do your thing and I’ll do mine, stop worrying about it.’ and I really had the feeling that it wouldn’t be the last one. Luna was just so _easy_ to fret over.)

But back to Sirius Black and the rat.

I could… Hm. Well, this was the nice thing about having Luna completely aware of both my Sights, hm?

“I think I’m going to go See for a bit, if that’s alright with you.” I said lightly to her.

Luna was normally the unflappable sort, but I think there was a shine of eagerness in her eyes when she heard that; I had never asked Luna to cover for me like this, to help me with the Clairvoyance, not the way Ginny and my brothers had done over the years. 

She nodded agreeably, giggling. “You’re very interested in burning the Ackerly Ticks, of course. Dark colors have a fascination for burning things.”

(Not a lie. Dark wizards and witches liked _domination_ , you see, liked _conquering_ , and what better way to signify your victory than to burn something to ashes?)

I concentrated on the rat and Sirius Black and the choice that I was making, reached into my tattered Occlumency barriers, and coaxed my Clairvoyance — so awfully neglected lately, the poor thing — out to play.

_Knife glinting in moonlight — curtain drawn back, he remembered these, they hid behind them in their forms so often. Not the time for memories, he knew this, he shook his head — knife in his hand, small and barely sharp enough for a quill, let alone a — brown fur, greying, thin and sickly. Not there, gone, blood on the sheets and orange cat hairs were all over the place. A memory — moonlight and a drawn curtain — “AAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGHHHHH! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”_

_Stop._

_Choice? — “I’m sure.” — He was ready, he could face his demons, he flinched from black diaries and Nathaniel Wilkes enough — “…You’re honestly the worst Slytherin I’ve ever met.” he chuckled, smile a curve, warmth in his dark eyes, helplessness, too._

_He wanted to make peace — two boys standing, one taller and thinner, the other suspicious — “I want to make peace, Bastion.” “Liar.” “Not this time.” “You always lie, Wilkes.” he sneered — Peace, he said._

_Stop._

_The dog ran through the school — panting, tired, bones felt through his shaggy, matted fur — tired — silvery eyes searching for somewhere to hide. They were everywhere, they were looking for him, surely they would find a lone hound in Hogwarts suspicious — the paper slipped to the floor — Neville Longbottom raised his hand, trembling — “Perce — Sirius Black! In our dormitory! With a knife! Woke me up!”_

_“We found this dog wandering about, but nothing else…” — Lupin narrowed his eyes, turning yellow, amber with aggression. Unnoticed, Severus Snape flinched away. He bore his teeth. “Dog?” he asked — The secret was out — “I was not their Secret Keeper! Please! Let me kill the rat!”_

_Choice. — Harry Potter, fist clenched in his jeans, jaw tight with anger. “I want him dead.” ??? — “You’re one of mine, you know. I think.” “Not very confident, are you, Guinevere?” A snort. A roll of her eyes._

_Stop._

_Her hands pet his ears gently. She snorted. “Mutt.” — the water was warm, there was a_ Muffliato _on the door ??? — Choice._

_“I need your help.” — ??? — She cried out, face in her hands. The moon was high. But she was grinning. — “GET THE RAT!” ??? — Choice. Josephine Zabini, Guinevere Weasley, standing across from each other._

_She looked up at her friend. “I need your help, Alby.” — smile, old and withered but genuine; he’d missed her, lately, but — “He needs to-” ??? — Choice._

_Stop._

Aaaagh, headache. Well, then. Message received, Clairvoyance: Not yet.

Fucking dammit. Two steps forward, one step back.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Guys. Guys, guys, guys. I'm past 500 kudos and 200 bookmarks. HOly shit guys! XD Thanks to all who kudos and bookmark and especially the commentors! :D I have very fun conversations in the comments. XD
> 
> So yeah. This chapter is a little late, I've had a bit of a rough day. :P But here it is! It's mostly filler and fluff, to be honest; this arc is going a little slow, which I apologize for, but I've found I had a tendency to make awesome shit happen in the even-numbered arcs and take it slow with the odd-numbered ones. So. :D
> 
> Anyways! Here it is, please enjoy! :)

 

**…**

 

“Fucking _finished!”_ I snarled in triumph, shoving the last document into its neatly labeled folder and banishing it into its place in the common room.

Normally, the _magnus_ and _parvus_ official business was signed in public, therefore the decorative cabinets in the Slytherin commons were utilized for storage. They were warded heavily, of course, accessible only to the _parvus_ and _magnus_ reigning, along with their Seconds; that was why it was so important for the two leaders to get along, because one at least had to key the other in when they took the seat. (Malfoy, the idiot, had pissed Zabini off so much that she’d never keyed him in, not that he’d ever asked or indicated interest in the annoying, technical aspects of the position.)

Josephine was sitting in her spot, which was right near to the cabinet I’d finally finished off, lounging casually and looking wickedly amused. Her set of couches was diagonal of the main cabinet, same distance as mine actually; it symbolized equality when it came to that horrible paperwork from hell, I guess. But that’s where the similarities ended: our _potesta_ spaces reflected us, actually.

Both queens of Slytherin, but we were quite different in going about it. Josephine favored her couches sleek and clean, which was exactly like her. There was an aura of _dangerously competent_ always surrounded her, the very edges of her territory cut neatly and clinically clean. 

You could see it in the way we dressed, the way we held ourselves. Josephine was all pressed collars and fitted robes, straight-backed and sharp-smiled and in formation with her Second and her closest allies _always_. I was rolled-up sleeves and Luna-gifted socks (that acted as my wand holster), crooked grins and barks of laughter and messing about with my boys.

“Excited, are you, Guinevere?” Josephine asked, voice purring. 

“You have no idea.” I replied, shutting the cabinet neatly and grinning ferociously at the thought of _finally_ being able to repair my damn Occlumency barriers, which would be really nice since I was in a much more peaceful frame of mind after my little talk with Harry.

(And would be really important, since the Halloween incident had the dementors even closer to the school than before. Damn things.)

Josephine laughed. “And where are your kiddies? I imagined that Harper kid would be cheering.”

I turned to grin at her. “I shooed them off to go celebrate early, so I could relish the moment myself. I imagine they’re bribing the House Elves and smuggling things into our classroom right about now.”

Josephine looked a bit pensive, her amused smile faltering just a bit. “You know, I don’t think I’ve heard of a _potesta_ reign as close as yours, Guinevere. Close enough to have their own private common room like you do.” Her eyes softened, hands putting down a thin book she’d been pretending to page through when I sprinted up to the filing cabinet. “You’re luckier than you think. It’s rare, to be able to trust 80% of your camp.”

“90%. I’m on the way for Nathaniel.” I said jokingly.

I didn’t miss the fact that she looked a slight bit envious. And why shouldn’t she be? Josephine had her friends, but it was like if me and Malfoy were running the same circles; lots of snarls and insults and challenges, but too much pride to allow the structure of the _potestas_ to fall to ruin because of their inability to multitask. Weaknesses were exploited as a rule of thumb in Slytherin, and Josephine was a prime example of a Slytherin.

Me, on the other hand… Well, I was a good Slytherin when I wanted to be, but if I could choose, I’d probably be a Gryff. And I acted like it, because every single person I’d tricked into my camp, every ally chosen to make me better, had become one of mine. Like a fucking gradient, Slytherin first, then the closer you got, the more Gryffindor I became. And somehow, that mentality of ‘us against the world’, of pride and power in a collective rather than your individual self… it bled into my firsties, my brothers, my friends, and now I had both loyal friends and position, which Slytherins normally counted as mutually exclusive.

In short: somehow I hacked the system. (And I didn’t even need my cheaty Seer abilities for it.)

Come to think of it, Josephine seemed to be involved in whatever choice I had coming up. Or in the works. My last bout of meditation, guarded by Luna in the greenhouses, had hinted at such. I’m sure it was a lot more subtle than the Clairvoyance implied, but then again…

Well. Josephine Zabini never existed, to my memory, so she really could be a curveball. Just like all my boys had been surprises. Who’d have thought, in this world where I was born just to protect my family, that I’d be lucky enough to find a bunch of weird Slytherin boys who I’d probably burn Europe down for? Whose to say that Josephine wasn’t that sort of surprisingly important existence, right?

“Do you want to come?”

We both blinked at each other. The words had popped right out of my mouth, without my say-so. Happened often, though, so I shouldn’t have been so surprised; I _liked_ Josephine, after all. She still looked stunned, for her at least — a small widening of the eyes was all that gave her away. (In the end, I was a Slythindor; the Gryffindor impulsiveness made my mouth run, and the Slytherin cunning spun the recklessness in my favor.)

I grinned. “If you don’t mind hanging about a bunch of brats, that is.” I thought about them fondly, imagining their faces if I brought _Josephine Zabini_ to hang around us. “Harper and Lu are like children; really, _really_ terrible at subtlety and hiding their thoughts. Jay’s shy, but he’ll be nice to talk to for you. I’d say Dietrich and Nate would provide intelligent conversation, but those two are always at each other’s throats, so they’ll just be entertaining or slightly annoying instead.”

“And where will you be in all of this?”

I blinked up at Josephine. She normally had a confident smile on her face, eyes half-lidded and lazy; the smile would sharpened into a baring of her teeth in an instant, but it never _softened._

Her expression now?

I mirrored her, lips curling at the edges and eyes warm. “Probably breaking up their fight by throwing something at them, which Harper and Lu will love, and then going back to braiding Jay’s hair and chatting with you.”

Josephine raised a brow. Then her smile widened, and she threw her head back, laughing. When she finally elected to calm down, she looked amused and I looked more than a little annoyed (embarrassed).

She grinned at me. “Sounds like fun.” But she shook her head. “Still, my reputation would be in _ruins_ if I decided to make nice with your _potesta_ , since you’re still a bunch of kids compared to me.”

First instinct was to get annoyed. The second was to argue on behalf of my boys. But one never goes with your first and second ideas, right? So I sighed, shrugged, and smiled in exasperation instead. “I guess it’s a bit of a stretch, expecting a seventeen-year-old to sit with a bunch of thirteen-year-olds.”

(When I was seventeen, you couldn’t pay me to do that. So, it’d be a bit stupid of me to have hard feelings if Josephine — a Slytherin _queen_ — didn’t feel like sitting in the middle of a bunch of kids.)

Josephine flicked a lock of hair behind her shoulder, because Slytherins were — in the end — _drama queens._ Every single one of them. “Keep those boys close, Guinevere.” said the queen of the _magnus._

I arched a brow. “I’m normally told the opposite.”

She started to open up her book again. “It’s rare to find that stubborn loyalty outside of the ‘Puffs, you know. You’re a Slytherin, aren’t you? Then you know how to see everything as either asset or obstacle. That kind of loyalty… it’s the biggest pain in the arse when it’s against you, and the greatest asset you’ll ever get when it’s _for_ you.”

I crossed my arms. “I know that.”

The _magnus potesta_ reigning gave her signature, vampiric smile. “Then what are you still doing here, little queen?”

“That kind of loyalty doesn’t pop up over night,” I said lightly, turning to the entrance to go find my boys; but I couldn’t resist throwing a smirk over my shoulder. “Got to cultivate it, no? Best to start with a chat or two.”

I left the common room with that, leaving behind some bewildered, eavesdropping Slytherins, a laughing Josephine, and an oddly cocky declaration that, one day, I think she and I would have that sort of ridiculous loyalty between us. By the sound of her amusement, I don’t think she really minded.

 

**…**

 

I could feel their glares on my back, but my fingers just kept braiding. “Harper. Lu. Stop looking at me like that.”

“You’re not even turned around!” 

I twitched at their twin gasps, then smirked when I heard them yelp as someone smacked them.

Dietrich sighed. “It is to be expected.”

“Of Lys to ignore the Quidditch game and braid Jay’s hair?” Lu complained.

“No, of _you two_ to annoy her for doing so even when you should be in the team reserve stands instead.”

“Well, it’s wet. And windy. We wanted to be where Lyssie drew up her wards.” Harper reasoned.

I finished off Jay’s braid (“Thanks, Lyssie.”) and grinned up at them. “Like ‘em, then? I really had to shove a bunch of magic and blood into them.”

The Hufflepuff-Gryffindor game was stormy and depressing, and I sort of wanted to strangle Lu and Harper for dragging us out of our nice, warm classroom for this… but I’d improvised.

My wards that I’d used in the _Duabus ex tribus?_ These were based on them, and some wards in the _Fortifications_ book series. I’d modified them to absorb a certain amount of water and wind instead, and I had to only do _certain_ because otherwise they’d probably dehydrate people who touched them or suffocate us. As it was, the excess water and wind was redirected somewhere else with _another_ ward, and if it was hitting the Ravenclaw stands (where Luna assuredly wasn’t), well, it wasn’t my problem that so many of their kids were annoying fucks who hated me. Trade-off, it was a fuck-ton of magical power and I’d had to ask Nate and Jay to help supply — Dietrich’s reserves were a little small for these, unfortunately — and we couldn’t really move without fucking the ward system up.

However! The Slytherin stands were dry and peaceful and Warming Charms provided by the upperclassmen kept us cozy as we watched the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors duke it out in the air. Added to the fact that Josephine smuggled in food, we were having a fine time up here. That both _potestas_ were grateful to me and were impressed by my foresight was a plus, too. Slytherins were vain little bastards, we didn’t like getting wet or cold or ruffled if it wasn’t on our terms.

“Question!” Harper called.

“Answer.” replied, rather rarely, Nate.

“Isn’t blood magic illegal?” asked Harper, looking around at my wards. (A good question, becausemost of the wards that I used were based on blood — Tom Riddle was obsessed with the stuff, honestly — and I tried not to do it too conspicuously. Or, at least, where there were only Slytherins, who ignored that sort of thing.)

“Blood magic wherein more than three ounce of blood is sacrificed is illegal,” Nate corrected with his usual suspicious smile, “Our Guinevere only used an ounce for both wards and supplied the rest of the power with Dietrich and I.”

“Ohhhhh, how’d you do that, Lyssie?”

_Hands writing, wrists and fingers smudged with ink — laughing in an empty room, smaller space and a single bed, she didn’t have any roommates. Parchment was strewn all around, drawn with runes and ward schemes of pentagons and heptagons and — “This time, I’ll substitute this with the rosemary branches, right?”_

_Is the energy equivalent?_

_According to these calculations, but I’m not sure how to determine the freshness as a component._

_Ptolemy’s Equivalency Theory won’t work for organic material of that nature._

_WHAT? Dammit, Tom, my entire substitution matrix is rubbish now!_

_Ridiculous girl, don’t you read what I give you?_

_Stop._

I smiled. “Trade secret, Harper.”

“What? How do you have trade secrets??” Lu demanded, leaning forward on Dietrich’s chair and making the boy twitch.

I laughed as Harper frowned at the annoyed Dietrich, then poked at the unable-to-move-still Nate. Because, you know, we ward batteries weren’t allowed to move from the spots I’d set up the ward schemas on, right underneath the stand seats. Nate was also twitching as Harper grinned and poked at his head.

“Trade se-”

A whisper at my senses.

I stiffened, whipped my head around to the pitch. Red and yellow blurs shot by, forms further confused by the violent wind and rain and the mist that was starting to creep through the storm clouds. My hands tightened. It was suddenly a little cold, wasn’t it?

“Shit. No-”

I expanded my Mage Sight range, cranking it up-

“Lys? Lys, what’s wrong?”

It trembled. The magic of the wards started to fail, wavering, rain drops started to leak through the sightless roof and my Slytherins murmured in surprise and upset, breaths visible with how _cold_ it was-

“Hufflepuff versus Gryffindor… rainy… third year…”

My breath was coming out in white wisps. The whispers grew louder, disjointed and scathing. Broken glass and warped mist and rotting colors that clashed and faded and moved like creeping fingers stood at the edges of my Sight. That was bad, shit-

“What did she say?”

A figure fell from his broom, a streak of red against the dark background of the sky; the crowd screamed and pointed, but my boys were focused on my sudden tension. That was Harry, I knew it was, and he was falling and it was the Hufflepuff-Gryffindor Quidditch match and-

Lu’s hand on my shoulder. “Lys, are you alright?”

-ice cold, hands were numb and hairs rising on the back of my neck-

“Move.”

“What?” asked Jay urgently, sounding more worried than I’d ever heard him.

-black cloaks, billowing among the clouds like ants scrabbling in the light, taking over, ice spreading through my veins and shattered glass pushing into my eyes, whispers and croaks instead of music; the golden wards of Hogwarts were straining to protect its children from harm, but they were bucking against shattered glass and warped colors and whispers that sung broken harmonies that _grated_ against my ears and eyes-

“EVERYONE MOVE!” I screamed, standing and shattering my wards, ignoring the twinge of pain it caused me.

The wind howled and the chill burst through, sudden rain drenching all of us. I whipped around, hands shaking so badly that I didn’t even bother getting out my wand; I’d just drop it and then it’d be lost and-

“GET INSIDE!” I roared, watching horrified but determined comprehension finally dawn in the _magnus potesta_ , who were thankfully grabbing my _parvus_ by the fistfuls and shoving them towards the stand’s stairs, “GET THE BLOODY HELL INSIDE!”

Hah. The Hufflepuff-Gryffindor Quidditch match, where Harry fell off his broom. Because of dementors, of course. The same dementors that, in close quarters, almost caused me to go crazy with the amount of despair and terror they could call from my memories. The same dementors, exposed to _my fucking_ reign, my first-years and fellow second-years and quiet thirds?

Fuck. I’d be pissed if I weren’t about to get mind-fucked and terrorized by dementors.

 

**…**

 

I won’t lie. Most of the little events have slipped past me. And why wouldn’t they? I haven’t read/watched HP in years, years that were filled with me being busy with magic, research, political machinations, and trying not to go insane with Clairvoyance and Mage Sight. I knew the big things, the abstract things: the Philosopher’s Stone was saved from Quirrell, the Chamber of Secrets had a basilisk, Dementors and werewolves and Sirius Black were important, Triwizard, etc. Easy things.

But I’d forgotten the devil was in the details, and that came to bite me in the ass today.

_Flicking wand movement, sharp L-shape turn, cruel smirk. “Do you know what it feels like, to be digested alive?” — stared at his hands with wide eyes, gag in his mouth- saliva and blood running down his chin. He shook his head, desperate and answering and — “You will.”_

_Stop._

_His chest burned and ached and echoed with how empty it was — sitting in the corner of an empty room, waiting for nothing. He was so terribly lonely, and the sun was bright, but it felt like death inside here — “He’s sort of a freak, Lucas, isn’t he?” — “Why does he never stop? We’re knackered, and so is he, but he never stops flying!” — cold eyes, hazel-blue and dark hair, hand gripping a cane — wand slipped inside, hidden, thrumming with power, a quiet song — “A disappointment, Lucas. Again.”_

_Stop._

_The birds were exploding into bone and blood all over the place — crimson wings and — she couldn’t stop seeing them, she tried to look away, but it was mesmerizing, the carnage. There was something utterly beautiful about how disgusting it was. They were — flying and dripping and the rain was red and — “I’m seeing things, right? I’m seeing things. I have to be.”_

_Stop._

“Get Lyssie out of here!” someone roared.

_Sitting in the corner and curled up and lonely, stumbling to his feet. Put on a smile-_

_Stop._

“Lu?”

Was that my voice?

“What’s going on? What’s wrong with her?”

“She doesn’t react well to dementors, Nate, piss off or help me!”

_Scabby, dark hands with long fingers and ripped nails, creeping into the cracks of the doorway — there was nothing under their hoods, just — “What are you afraid of, o lovely one?” laughed the white mask with oozing teeth, reaching forward, tilted head innocent but not — dark dark dark and nothing else, nothing else in the world, the stars were all dead and all that remained were their black embers and infinite nothing._

_Stop._

_Red hair and moonlight — pale fingers and pale fingers? — “You’re one of mine.” — Josephine Zabini laughed? — the lake rippled, stones cutting across the water in steps and skips. She tried to copy, the older girl found her stones — “The plimpies would like this one.” “What are you talking about?” — Stepping stones and skipping stones and grey slate on mirror-like water. A vampire’s smile, but there was no bite to it?? — “You’re one of mine.”_

_A brown rat with greying fur, streaking across the grass. Wand whipped towards it, pointing, silvery branches spouted from the tip and then shattered as he broke through —_ “ACCIO RAT!” _she screamed? And a smile, no heat to it, just a smile. — “You’re one of mine.” she said contentedly, nodding to herself?_

_Stop._

“There’s a spell, there’s a spell to make them go away! I know, my Mum told me about it-”

“What’s the spell, Harper? Harper!”

“I don’t know, I’m sorry, I don’t know!”

_Hands gripped hands, pale fingers and pale fingers?? Both stained with ink and magic — “Don’t worry.” — “I always worry, Lyssie.” — together, but he felt his heart clutch and there were bruises under his robes. She could only quietly hand him Bruise Paste and, god, he hurt and — “Are you weak, boy?” — “You’re one of mine.” ???_

_Stop._

“What the fu- She’s bleeding. Bastion, what the bloody hell is this, Guinevere’s _bleeding!”_

“ _Episkey!”_

“That didn’t work, Dietrich!”

“I am trying my best!”

“Too many people are panicking, we can’t get her out. She’s barely safe here, Harper was trampled when he tried to go inside and check on our _potesta_ -”

“Shove them out of the way! No, let me, I’ll bloody blast ‘em, Lyssie’s got blood gushing out of her nose and mouth and- Merlin’s BLOODY pants- how much can she bleed out with the anaemia thing? Just try to Vanish the blood, or she’ll choke!”

“Vanishing is hard!”

“Not YOU, Harper, you’ll probably slit her throat open or something!”

_Throat opened with a letter opener, silver and crimson, gushing out and he can’t breathe, his hands are clawing the air and there are tears in his eyes — struggle, one two three, thrash and scream voicelessly — pain in his throat, his lungs burn, his blood is strangled._

_Then his struggles ceased, there’s a pool of wine-red all around him, reflecting the candle light, and the white markings on the ground drink. Smaller, smaller, the pool lessens — the flesh ages, sinks, rots away, bones turn to dust, there’s nothing and yet — the magic screeches, laughingly and horribly, and-_

_Stop._

_“Do you know what it feels like now? Ah. He can’t answer, can he? Dead. Just like all the others. Pity, really.” — unseeing eyes, sizzling flesh, a horrible smell and a terrible pain and a figure laughing in the face of it all hysterically._

_Stop._

Blue eyes. Very, very blue eyes. Harper. Right. I could barely think… very lightheaded. Probably because of the blood thing.

“Har… per…” I choked out.

There was very visible panic in his face when I spat out more blood. Thankfully didn’t get my gross germs all over his face, because that would’ve been a shame. There was some magic, a twitch in the colors, and then I sucked in a breath that hurt, that pressed against the pressure crushing the rest of my insides.

This was a reaction to overuse of magic. Meaning that not only did the dementor _fucks_ bring up all the worst memories I’d ever Seen, they were bringing up the worst memories I hadn’t Seen yet. Meaning they were triggering a goddamn Clairvoyant episode and FUCK that was really bad and dangerous. Goddamn Legilimens and Legilimens-like creatures were the most dangerous things to Seers like me. (Gossip from the Golden Trio told me that Trelawney was crazy, but I honestly thought they might’ve been scared of the dementors because Seers and dementors _did not_ mix, and anyone of a Seer bloodline would know this.)

(This also might be why Luna was more reserved than not this year, hanging around her Tower rather than the Forest, because I was 90% sure she was of some Seer-lineage, and the dementors could easily kill a kid in the Forest.)

“Alby… or… Snape…” I instructed, with difficulty.

And the next thing I know, Harper’s out of my way and all I can barely see — because of the fucking rain all over my eyes — is overcast sky and the occasional black figure flitting in and out of vision, and there’s Harper yelling, “Get a _Nuntiam_ to Snape, Wilkes!”

“It’s BLOODY RAINING if you haven’t noticed, Harper!”

“That’s what _IMPERVIUS_ is for, stupid!”

“Shut up, Harper!”

_Silence and then creaking, the branches shifting under their weight, rope rubbing scars into their boughs so they’d remember the hanged forever — twisting around, spinning slowly, as slow as dancing, dancing in the air with their heads cocked and throats purple. The boy crawled out from the abandoned den — fox den, seat of cunning, hiding — and stared at his father._

_Stop._

“Stand aside, Harper, Wilkes! _Anapneo, Episkey, Evanesco, Expecto Patronum!”_

Warmth and my mind suddenly didn’t feel like it was going to explode, but it hurt and-

Jostled. Arms around me. Shudder through my body, cold, a tap and a Warming Charm, then-

Lifted from the ground like I was little again. Where was Dad? No? No, I was at Hogwarts, but I could imagine him, I could see him, it was warm just like back then, the first smile and the first awakening and-

“Come along, Weasley,” said a voice stiffly, “You are more troublesome than Potter.”

I tried to smile slightly, because that was exactly right. And I didn’t even make up for it with saving Philosopher’s Stones or boys from basilisks or godfathers from dementors. 

(Maybe that was why I was a Slytherin, because I didn’t save anything but things that were me and mine.)

 

**…**

 

When I woke up and saw a white ceiling, I groaned. “God, I am here too often.”

“At least you’re aware of your deficiencies, Weasley.”

Oh. Well, that was unexpected. I sat up, shifting the Hospital Wing blankets and pillows, wincing at the soreness in my chest as I did. “Hullo, Professor Snape.”

You’d think that I’d be greeted by armfuls of firsties, maybe some well-wishers from Slytherin who liked the new direction I was taking it, Josephine, my brothers, Harry or Hermione or Luna, or hell, even Alby. It was odd to see Professor Snape sitting all regally and stiffly on one of the Hospital Wing chairs (which Alby usually Transfigured for comfort) and watching me with hawkish, black eyes. He had one of those faces that just sort of made you feel like a bug, you know, so I couldn’t even feel bad when I shrunk back a little.

Slytherin _parvus_ reigning or not, Professor Snape was my Head of House. We respected him.

“Weasley. I was not informed of your reaction to dementors.”

Straight to the point. Except he drawled it out and made me squirm a little inwardly at how irritated his voice sounded, even as his face remained passive.

I twitched my fingers a little, unwrapping an Occlumencic/magical film from my Mage Sight — my, my, it had built up, how long had I been asleep? — so I could reveal Snape’s colors. I felt a lot better when I could see hostile elements’ colors (which was why the damn cambion scared the shit out of me, even now). Deep blues and streaks of dark violet and green, the strings like silver and ivory. Roiling with irritation, just as I figured.

He raised a brow. “What did you do?”

I blinked. “You felt that?”

“A certain sensitivity to magic is required in the art of potion-making, Weasley.” Snape answered dully. “I am well-versed in the magic of many creatures and plants, Weasley. You could not afford the sensory organs of a Brightstalker.”

Brightstalkers were magical creatures that loved preying on magic. Magic ripped from the bodies of wizards and witches, of course. They were completely blind and deaf physically; their one sense was Mage Sight, which they used to hunt. It was in _The Magick of Man-Hunters_ and that’s how I learned control over the Soothsayer part of me, through bastardizing their techniques with spells and meditation and blah blah blah.

Brightstalkers were also very, very, very Dark creatures. No one liked talking about them, since it was “an affront to magic” that they hunted down people through Mage Sight, and could drain a wizard of his magic enough to leave Squibs all over the place. Hunted to near-extinction, the elusive Brightstalker.

“They’re a magical creature with natural Mage Sight, and instinctive control of it.” I replied, “I studied them for my own purposes.”

Snape looked a bit suspicious, since hi, I was admitting that I was a bloodtraitor studying something bordering on the Dark Arts, but he didn’t care to inquire further. Which was why I enjoyed Snape as a House Head.

Then he went back to the original subject.

(Undoubtedly, he’d be digging around for information later. Snape wouldn’t go tattling to Alby that I was interested in the Dark — hi, pot, this is kettle! — but my Head of House would probably watch me closely. Josephine told me that he ran interference if the Dark Arts delving that her _potesta_ got into went too far, since the man knew so much about the Dark Arts.)

Snape said coolly, “Twenty of your ribs were fractured from the force of your magical backlash. Do you know how many ribs you have, Weasley?”

I winced at the anger creeping into his colors. “Twenty-four.” I answered.

“Twenty-four,” Snape repeated softly, “Twenty of your twenty-four ribs and internal bruising. And Mr. Bastion informed me that this was not your first time meeting the dementors. Tell me, Weasley, has your proximity to _Potter_ somehow infected you with a fatal hero-complex?”

Harry’s surname was spat out like it was acid. Fucking Snape. But I withered a little at the force of his glare and the iciness of his tone. It was very hard for me to be my usually snappy, insulting self if the other party was someone I respected, and very concerned for me. As if I’d mistake that thrum in his colors, and the shakiness in his core song; that was very much worry/concern/protection.

(Weasley family taught me that soul pattern well.)

(Of course, this was on top of the eternally-present sadness/grief/bitterness Snape always had.)

“The reaction wasn’t this bad the first time around, Professor.” I said weakly.

“Evidently not.”

Another wince. Damn, he was pissed. “Are we… Is there a Silencing Ward up?”

Snape flicked his wand out faster than I could even register movement. “ _Muffliato._ ” he muttered, twisting his wand like so, the silvery strings of his magic flickering and branching around us in a circle, a web-like barrier — which was what perimeter spells often looked like, if I had my Mage Sight up — crackling up in a dome around us, then fading to an opaque whisper.

I remembered that spell, somehow. _Muffliato_ … Muffle? A Muffling spell? Good enough. Lucky I was adept at memorizing wand movements and incantations, from my visions. _Muffliato_ sounded useful as hell.

I took a breath. Then, “The first time, the dementor was a lot closer. They… Well, they bring up your worst memories, right? I have the memories of the world, past and present and future and unfuture, and… They bring those up. It’s… it’s a nightmare, being trapped in all the worst things the world has to offer.”

Snape was still. There was no flicker of emotion. But his magic seemed to soften and sigh, and if I looked closely enough, his eyes were just a little more understanding, though also unsurprised. Of course Snape knew that; he was _Snape._

“This time was different. They did that, but they also… somehow, they triggered a vision. Or maybe it’s the power surge I had on my birthday, and I haven’t been able to meditate enough what with the _potesta_ situations, so my magic was restless and my shields were weak. Whatever the case, they dragged me into a vision and brought me new horrible things to see and I couldn’t get out.”

My Head of House was quiet. Contemplative. There was no sigh or pinched brow or anything; the man had a poker face Dietrich envied, but he also had the ability to break his pokerface, which Dietrich also envied. Snape closed his eyes, which was the only outward sign of frustration or whatever that he’d allow. His colors were calm and still, which was good.

“You are more troublesome than Potter.” he said flatly.

I smiled a little. “I have a vague recollection of you saying that before.”

Snape almost rolled his eyes. I could feel it. Silently, he dismissed the muffling barrier or ward or whatever. “You are a Slytherin, girl,” he almost sighed, “Only a fool or a Gryffindor hoards power but doesn’t ensure they can enjoy it.” He stood, making to leave. “You are so monumentally abhorrent at self-preservation, Weasley, I cannot even fathom why you were put into my House.”

“Ambition,” I replied good-naturedly, smirking now. “Wanting to live until my twenties with the demon twins in the same household is ambitious, right, Professor?”

_(Wanting to live until my twenties, because I would gladly die for one of mine to live.)_

( _Wanting to live until my twenties, because I didn’t, last time around.)_

Snape snorted derisively. “Foolish girl. That you wear green and silver, that you are _parvus potesta_ , you would do well to avoid such circumstances as these from now on. You are a Slytherin, Weasley. Slipping into a coma for a week is unbecoming of your House and station. Do not let this happen again.”

A week. Fuck. I blanched, and Snape smirked as he left. The bastard.

I was annoyed enough to overlook the fact that, underneath all that drawling sarcasm and acidity, Snape had — in his Slytherin way — told me that he expected better of me and that he didn’t disbelieve for an instant that I wouldn’t find a way to do better from now own. Because, you know, fucking Slytherins and their wordy words and double meanings.

Ah, shit. All the paperwork I’d missed would be piled up. My firsties were probably going mad, trying to cover for me. Harper had probably cried. _Jay_ had probably cried. Fuuuuuuuuck, my brothers and sister, though. And Percy and Ron, the overprotective little shits. Fuck my life.

I had the urge to bash my head against a wall. I’d follow through with it, too, if Madam Pomfrey weren’t so damn scary.

 

**…**

 

“The Patronus Charm.”

I blinked. Normally, when my boys visited, they shoved sweets and my notebooks and sometimes my favorite books at me, to make me feel better and whatnot. But this time, all five of them stood with Harper at the front, giving me a single book: _Shield of Light_ , by Arturo Montgomery. A compendium of offensive spells with Light allegiances.

“The Patronus?” I asked, taking the book absently.

Harper nodded. “I wrote my Mum while you were still in the… in the coma. She said it’s the best defense against a dementor, and sent me this book.”

“We’re all going to learn it.” Dietrich said softly.

“But only Harper’s Light-”

“Doesn't mean we can’t cast it.” Jay interrupted uncharacteristically, “It’ll be harder, sure, but we’ll learn it. You’re probably going to be the first, since your Mage Sight is such a great help in spell casting and warding.”

“Because I have references,” I sighed, thinking of how I had my brothers or the _magnus_ or Professors demonstrate spells for me while my Mage Sight was up, “And I match the patterns of magic to those references. We don’t know anyone who can cast a Patronus-”

“Albus Dumbledore.” Nate interrupted, this time.

I frowned. “You all despise him.”

“Not _despise,_ ” Lu protested, “Just… dislike intensely?”

“Because he doesn’t care much for his school, if an entire House is ostracized as much as us.” Harper said matter-of-factly, as if he were repeating it from someone else; which he probably was, the way Dietrich and Nate’s eyes gleamed vindictively.

I sighed. “I agree that Alby’s overworked, but if I had to choose between politics of the ICW and Ministry or a school filled with adolescents, I’d do the same.”

“No you wouldn’t.” all five chorused.

I gave them my flattest stare. “I hate you all.” I declared.

“You really, really don’t.” Nate replied with a cheeky grin.

“You especially.” I retorted.

“Please just ask the Headmaster to demonstrate for you?” Jay pleaded, stepping forward to rest his hands on my blankets and green eyes dangerously watery, “Lys, this is the second time we’ve been frightened out of our wits because of dementors, and this time, your magic was so violent that it _hurt_ you.”

“You went accidental,” Lu mumbled grudgingly, “And Dietrich said that at that level of your magic getting all… defensive-like, you probably would’ve hurt us.”

“We really should be preparing for the backlash of this,” Nate said absently, inspecting his fingers, “Malfoy caught wind of it. Fainting at dementors is bad enough, but he’ll likely target the fact that you went accidental.”

“Your accidental magic, it hurt you.” said Dietrich, tossing a scathing look at Nate, “Meaning you pulled it back and hurt yourself _even more so_ to protect us, you _maudite, imprudente, incroyable fille!_ No more. We will learn to keep them away from us, so you will have to speak to your old mentor and begin the process.”

That…

…was not an accurate assessment, but it was a very, very good guess. They didn’t know about the Clairvoyance, so they wouldn’t know about the magical backlash — Soothsayers had a different sort of backlash, which came in the form of intense migraines and nausea and such rather than rib-breaking and shit; another reason they weren’t considered true Seers by the ICW — but… well, it sounded like something I’d do, redirecting accidental magic to myself, being aware of my proximity to mine. Of course they’d come to that conclusion; Dietrich especially, with how I threw myself into the lair of a basilisk for his sake last year…

I traced the title of the book with my fingertips. “You’re right. I don’t hate you all.”

There was a sigh of relief, all around. Not from those words, not really. I’m sure they all got the message: _Fine. We’ll all learn the bloody Patronus Charm, if we can._

“It’s a high-level spell.” I mumbled.

“Everything we do is high-level.” Lu retorted.

“This is different, though. And it’s pure Light, which none of us are.”

“So?”

I rolled my eyes. “We’re not going to get this in one go. We’re probably not even going to get it in a few months, you realize.”

“At least we finished the paperwork recently.” Jay pointed out.

“If this takes away from _Sollertia Augurium,_ I’m going to be very upset.” I warned.

“You haven’t made a _dent_ in that book, Guinevere.”

“Thank you, Nate. _Rictumsempra._ ”

_“Protego._ Temper, temper, Guinevere.”

“I’m a redhead. We have tempers. Which, if we’re all being honest, is probably why I ended up _parvus potesta_.”

“Perhaps we’ll duel Malfoy again?” Dietrich mused, “He is ignoring the fact that you impressively did not hurt anyone with your magic, focusing on the loss of control instead. _Ce petit idiot exaspérant._ Your temper is suited to dueling.”

I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at him. They always, _always_ poked fun of my love for dueling. I called it stress relief; _they_ called it sadism. Jerks. 

Harper got himself comfortable, sitting all cross-legged on my bed, right up next to my legs. He grabbed _Shield of Light_ and opened to the first page. (That _Harper_ , our lovable, easily-distracted, hates-studying _Harper_ , was the first to open the book… well, it made my heart all warm because that meant he _really_ wanted to learn the Patronus Charm. For my sake.)

“Page 341! Patronus Charm. Ooh, pictures!” he said brightly.

Lu peeked over his shoulder. “Diagrams, Harper,” he said, rolling his eyes, “That’s the breakdown of the spell.”

Harper’s eyes glinted. “So readers can modify it, right?”

Dietrich swiped the book out of Harper’s hands immediately. “Absolutely not.”

I grinned, sharing a look with Harper. “But Dietrich! Just think: _exploding_ Patronuses.”

Nate glanced at Dietrich, and it was one of those rare times they weren’t sniping at each other at all. There was a certain ‘We’re doomed’ look that everyone had, though only four of us really made use of regularly. “Are we certain we want _Guinevere_ to guide us during this venture to learn a spell that’s uniquely suited to _Harper?”_

“It’s this, or Lys puts herself into a coma again.” said Jay lightly.

Dietrich shoved the book at me.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, is this what other authors feel when they don't backlog? This is nerve-wracking. I wrote this chapter in two days (the weekend), panicking the entire time because I'm so screwed when we hit the end of my first draft. DX
> 
> Anyways. I was gonna put a shoutout here but then it was a million people, so basically: everyone who comments is the best and I love you. :D Y'all always help me with my foreign language and tell me how my characters are doing, and I absolutely adore that people are shipping my OCs, bc that means I did them boys right. XD
> 
> So yeah! Thanks for reading and commenting and kudos-ing, I love you all, and I hope you enjoy! This is a chapter getting ready for some action, so it's a bit summary-ish, but I present it to you lovingly all the same. :)

 

**…**

 

A month passing and our progression with the Patronus Charm was…

Well.

“Why is this so DIFFICULT? It’s just calling up a bunch of happy memories, isn’t it? I can’t even produce WISPS and Harper CAN?” Lu raged, for the hundredth time, making several Slytherins sitting in the common room roll their eyes again.

Jay’s brow was furrowed in concentration and annoyance. His wand was spluttering out little breaths of white, but nothing much more than that. He met Lu’s snarling gaze grimly. “It’s a little embarrassing, admittedly.”

“DAMN RIGHT IT’S EMBARRASSING!”

Harper pointed at Lu and laughed, as he'd been doing every Patronus session. “You’re such a bad sport, Lu!”

Lu twitched. “Shut up, Harper!”

Nate was laid out on a loveseat all by himself, reading my translated notes of _Sollertia Augurium_ with interest. He hadn’t even attempted to cast his Patronus yet, knowing he was as Dark as Jay but not quite as prodigious in magic. I suspected, also, that Nate was the type that’d never lower his pride, and to be worse than Harper in anything would be too much for him. It was almost too much for Dietrich, who was only producing wisps because his core was Grey rather than Dark, and he was infuriatingly determined to be able to stop dementors from coming near us all.

(From me, they all silently agreed. _From me.)_

Harper was grinning manically, throwing wisps of white all over the place. They only flickered for a second or two before dispersing, but it was better than what the rest of us could get, though quite bad for a concentrated effort of a month. I kept an eye on their magical cores, listening and watching for the moment they verged on magical exhaustion — this much magic poured into a failed spell, over and over again, it always came on quick.

“Any luck, _parvus?”_

We all glanced up at Josephine, hands on her hips and a grin on her face. She’d been extremely amused the first day we’d walked into the common room to practice Patronuses. It was a calculated move, on our part; Malfoy was already harping on about how I was a questionable _parvus potesta_ leader if I was hospitalized by the mere presence of dementors, never mind that not a single one of us Slytherins did well with them. My boys and I decided that, rather than scramble to cover our weakness, we’d make a show of correcting it and proving we could overcome whatever unexpected misfortune stood in our way.

Hence the common room, rather than our abandoned classroom.

“It’s slow-goings.” I answered for all of us.

Josephine nodded. “It would be. Pure Light, that spell. And no tutoring?”

“Perhaps when we’re really struggling, but this is just… training, I suppose.”

She beamed in recognition. “Ah! I knew it. You’re trying to impress it into your magic, aren’t you?”

“Cast a spell enough times, it becomes second-nature,” I said, shrugging, “And you get better. Most tedious way to go about this, especially at our core maturity, but it’s the simplest.”

Josephine chuckled. “Not very time-efficient, but it’s better for your core. You’re very caring towards your _potesta_ , aren’t you, Guinevere?”

I grinned. “Nothing but the best for me and mine, Josephine.”

She laughed and walked away, leaving us to our suffering. Which is just how she liked it, honestly. My boys teased me about being a sadist for loving the duels I was challenged to on occasion (aka Slytherins generally making sure I was doing well with all my duties, it was a _potesta_ thing, Josephine dueled at least once a week and saw it as part of the job), but it was Josephine who was the real sadist here. I think it was a product of her being a badarse and having been a _potesta_ leader since she was a _first year._ Even _I_ hadn’t done that, but Josephine had taken Slytherin by the balls and would graduate with the underscore of _seven years_ of leadership implied in her resume.

God, what an amazing girl. I was a reincarnation so I wasn’t half as amazing; this was just _Josephine Zabini_ at her core. She definitely deserved to be a _potesta_ leader, if she managed to control Slytherin for so long, even with Malfoy actively but unknowingly throwing everything into chaos.

(I… might have a crush. A little one.)

A month passing and our progression with the _potestas,_ by the way, was going much better than the Patronus.

Heh.

Holding court in the Slytherin common rooms is a given. One needs to hold court to make oneself available to the people one rules, but also to make sure they don’t bother you for each and every little thing at random times of the day. The set up hierarchy was to prevent that, since we were _all_ students; the _potesta_ system was just an extracurricular activity of our House, marked down subtly in our records if such a thing was relevant to our future employers.

(Which it would be, in all likeliness. House secrets were House secrets, but every organization had a Slytherin in their upper management, and they would always keep an eye out for powerful pieces come from powerful _potestas.)_

“Weasley?”

I looked up from _Sollertia Augurium_ , its introduction only barely translated and still being smoothed out. Nothing interesting but Helvynya Prevett’s childhood, in all honesty. Dietrich was sitting on my right, Harper on my left.

“Cornfoot,” I greeted amiably, smiling slightly, “What is it?”

He shuffled on his feet. Silvester Cornfoot was a third-year, neutral-to-Light family, pureblood of a branch house. Quite shy, this one, less outspoken than his Ravenclaw cousin of the main house, Lavina. I believe the girl was friends with Lily Moon of Slytherin. Silvester had flaxen hair worn a bit longer than normal, watery brown eyes, a weak chin but normally a sharp look about his face. Best as a listener and information-gatherer, him, with his surprising ability to blend into crowds despite the silver and green on his tie.

“My mentor…” the boy trailed off, not meeting my eyes.

I frowned. “Peregrine Derrick? What of him?”

Cornfoot swallowed visibly, then straightened and met my eyes determinedly. “Derrick hasn’t shown up to the mentor meetings for two weeks, _regina._ I have been supplementing my advising sessions and homework aid with my dorm mates’ advice and help, but I do not want to be inconvenienced like this when he has responsibility for me.”

The Slytherin common room went quiet. Dietrich’s eyes had narrowed, flickering to Jay and Nate — both of whom had key roles in the mentor-mentee situation between the _potestas_ — who were scowling at the implication. Not that Cornfoot was slighting against their judgement, but that Derrick was slighting them for not fulfilling his duties and therefore making them look poor. The glint in Nate’s eyes foretold pranks and torment, courtesy of Harper and Lu and himself, in the future.

“Derrick will be… spoken to.” I said, smiling sharply and thinking of how pissed Josephine was going to be — this made her look bad, too, as he was of her _potesta._ “Anything else, Cornfoot? Your escort group is working?”

He nodded enthusiastically. “The Gryffs haven’t done anything to me in weeks.”

“Good,” I muttered, vindictive and smug.

It’s not an exaggeration, to say that Slytherins are the pariah of the school. But the other Houses’ way of showing it is similar to how the Slytherins initially treated me: subtle, unthinkingly petty, and only really hurtful if you take it personally. Which most Slytherins, within a year or two, do not; the way of the world is that Gryffindors are heroes, Ravenclaws are smart, Hufflepuffs are bubbly, and Slytherins are evil. But rather than outright bullying — for the most part, there’s always the crueler-minded ones out there — it’s like being snubbed, over and over again.

And what’s the worst thing you can do to a Slytherin? Piss on their pride. Which is what snubbing is, especially if it’s school-wide, dismissed as normal by everyone.

The escort groups are to prevent this. Less chance of bullying if we’re in groups. Less chance of snubbing if a sharp-tongued _magnus_ is there to call them out on it. Less chance of feeling hurt and alone if you’re _not._ It does require good _parvus-magnus_ relations, though, which isn’t that common, but Josephine and I handle it well.

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Cornfoot,” I added kindly, “Do you want a new mentor picked out, or would you rather… well, piggyback on one of your dorm mates? We’ll compensate the _magnus_ student for taking on two mentees, so don’t think of that.”

Cornfoot frowned. “Erm… I’m not sure. Could I… could I pair up with Lily Moon? Elena Chambers is good at Potions, which I’m horrid at, so maybe…?”

Jay smiled and spoke up, “She can be your temporary mentor, until we find a better match for you. If you do like Chambers enough, we’ll see what we can arrange then, alright, Cornfoot?”

“Oh. Alright, erm, thanks, Rookwood.”

Nate jumped in, chuckling a little. “It’s our duty as _parvus_ reigning. Guinevere will take good care of you all.”

Cornfoot looked at me, successfully creeped out by Nate at this point — he made it a point to be the creepy one of our reign — and when I nodded, smiling and tipping my head to him, he grinned in relief, and maybe a bit of hope, too. 

“I trust you, _regina._ ” he murmured as he shuffled backwards, looking to go to his friends who were watching closely.

“I strive to life up to it, _parvus_.” I answered formally, reopening my book feeling better about this _parvus_ thing. 

(I fluctuated between ‘WHy the fuck did I do this, I’m drowning in paperwork and stress!’ and ‘This was a good thing I did, this is worth it, don’t worry about it!’ weekly. Being a leader was a right pain in the arse, it really was, but sometimes the payoff was better than the work put in, so I suppose I couldn’t really complain.)

A month passing, and our progression with the issue of Nate — to trust or not to trust, and how much, and why should we, Lyssie?? — was slowly growing in favor for him, though it was very, very slow.

But still.

“And you simply… followed?” Nate asked skeptically.

Dietrich sniffed, turning away pointedly and reading one of the many books we scavenged thanks to the House Elves last year. Jay was sitting patiently, waiting for me to be done with his braid, and similarly kept quiet. Harper and Lu were the only ones who managed to speak to Nate amiably and effortlessly, so far; they were both on his side at one point, some would say, but it was just their extrovert personalities and ease with people that came into play there.

Dietrich was Nate’s victim, once upon a time, and Jay had been terrified he’d be next if he didn’t let it happen, which he did. There was bad blood all around, and it was only because I’d never seen first-hand the results of Nate’s torment — he had wisely backed off as soon as I showed interest in Dietrich, the clever Slytherin he is — that I wasn’t as awkward and mistrustful and hostile as they were towards the boy.

“Well… Lu had just joined us. It was political suicide, the way he did, you remember?” I answered, combing through Jay’s hair gently. (That shit was like _silk._ I don’t know _what_ Jay did to take care of it, but he was blessed with good genes and _silk_ hair.)

Nate snorted. “He was doing so poorly in classes and had so little backing… He needed your help and didn’t think it through enough to realize that to ask for your favor was to throw away Malfoy’s. Such an idiot…”

I casually reached down to my wand and flicked a low-power Stinging Hex at Nate, who was caught by surprise since the boy was reading through my _Sollertia Augurium._ (We had an odd bond over my ancestor’s book. I’d translate and read and he’d double-check and smooth the translations out; we were nearly a fourth into her childhood, which was… quite Dark and somewhat spoiled, but oddly flat, like she didn’t want to remember such a thing.)

Nate glared at me but didn’t retaliate, which was acknowledgement in itself that he shouldn’t have said that, at least in front of me. I took it, because the boy was like a cat — he did as he was unapologetic about his many, many whims.

“The first time we caught Lu sneaking off in the middle of the night, we honestly thought he might be meeting with you. Or Flint.” I said thoughtfully, frowning at a rare knot in Jay’s hair, “He pretended to be on Dietrich’s side once, just to betray him. We thought it might be the same, so we followed him, yeah.”

“To the Quidditch pitch.” Jay added softly, “Where we watched him break into the storage shed and play by himself for hours.”

Dietrich grumbled to himself. We’d been high-strung and rigid, and one of our untrusted was just playing Quidditch for _hours._ Dietrich and I had been _so_ annoyed the next day, with no sleep and no proof of betrayal to show for it.

I laughed. “And he _kept_ sneaking off, every third night, just to play. Eventually, Jay and Harper stopped coming and I started fretting about how he didn’t _eat a thing_ for all the physical activity he did.”

“Mother hen.” Dietrich murmured.

“You don’t get to say so, _Glucke.”_ I replied tartly.

Nate snorted. “I think I see now. You made it a little tradition, didn’t you?”

I grinned. “What’s not to love about midnight picnics while Harper and Lu fly, hm?”

“The waking up part.” Jay sighed.

I laughed. 

First time we caught Lu sneaking off to fly by himself, it was a year back and only Dietrich and Harper and Jay were with me. The boy had been a fresh addition, then. Untrusted, thought poorly of; both for being the then-leader of Dietrich’s bullies and for having had to bow down to us without much action on our part. Understandably, we’d all been extremely alert when he snuck off in the middle of the night.

We watched him play for three hours, waiting for Nate or Sebastian Flint to show up. No one did, Lu returned the equipment and we rushed everyone back inside so as not to arouse his suspicions, if he noticed in his exhaustion that some of his dorm’s beds were empty. We watched the next time, too. And the time after that.

Eventually Jay and Harper didn’t get up at all, only Dietrich and I; just to watch him, ostensibly to monitor his trustworthiness…

But then just to watch him.

Eleventh time we caught Lu sneaking off to fly by himself, he landed for a break in between chucking quaffles all over the place, and nearly had a heart attack when Dietrich and I were waiting for him; a towel in my hands and a pitcher of water in Dietrich’s.

Twentieth time we caught Lu sneaking off to fly by himself, he landed for a break and didn’t have a heart attack at all, seeing us sitting on a blanket in the grass with some snacks, water, a towel, and extra clothes for him to change into. He grinned at us, in fact, and said, “Harper didn’t get up this time, huh?” and I replied, “He and Jay are on their way, of course. They’re dropping off things in the usual classroom.”

Now it was a year forward and Lu didn’t sneak anymore, and Nate came to accompany us and read by _Lumos_ es with the grounded of us. House Elf-provided tea and water and small snacks spread out with us, waiting for Lu and Harper to touch the ground and rush to re-energize so they could go back up. There’d be bags under our eyes in the morning, but I heard Lu and Harper shouting and laughing above us so I couldn’t really say a thing, and I wouldn’t.

Nate chuckled. “You are such a close group of friends, it’s almost nauseating.”

“Shut up, Wilkes.” Dietrich grumbled half-heartedly.

“Hope you’ve a strong stomach, then,” I replied slyly, “because you’re sort of part of us.”

Nate sighed dramatically. “That’s what Nausea Tonics are for, Guinevere.”

Jay smiled as I finished his braid, Dietrich mumbled French under his breath — likely annoyed at Nate but too tired to do anything about it at the moment — and Nate and I started talking about the headache that was Middle English, while the boys laughed in the air.

A month passing, and all was well.

 

**…**

 

I was walking back with Dietrich and Harper, from auditing a Care of Magical Creatures class in the snow. Harper wanted to take it, and Dietrich and I were peripherally interested, so we asked Professor Snape if we could sit out of History of Magic to observe a fourth-year Care class — Slytherins and Gryffindors, which made for an interesting show of the snakes hissing at the lions but not going too far because _the_ leader of the _parvus_ was watching. Snape was only too glad to let us get away with shit, because Snape was the sort of person who liked to show that the school’s coldness towards the Slytherins would be met as pettily as they instigated it, and we went. (Interesting, Hagrid’s teaching methods. Strong-armed and clumsy, but if one watched and tried to make conversation with Hagrid, bringing him out of his nervous teaching, it was quite informative.)

“Dear bloody Merlin, I hate snow.” I mumbled, pulling my robes closer around me.

Harper laughed at me. “That’s the fourth time you’ve said that!”

I scowled. “Maybe if I hate it enough, the heat of my anger will melt it.” I muttered ridiculously.

“But then you’d be happy and not angry and it’d just snow more.” Harper piped up.

“Which means I have to be bloody angry forever.”

“Lys, you should not swear so much.” my Second scolded.

I raised a rather unimpressed brow. “Don’t think I can’t tell when you’re cursing in French, Dietrich. You have a poker face to rival Snape’s, but your voice is very expressive. I know when you’re swearing.”

Dietrich looked away and muttered, “ _Scheiße._ ”

“That’s German, and that’s still a curse-word. Idiot.”

“You know German, Lyssie?” Harper asked.

I smiled a little. “Just a bit. It’s a lovely language.” Dietrich preened a little, straightening. I snorted, then looked casually grabbed Dietrich’s wrist to look at his watch. (He sighed in resignation.) “It’s about time for the other three to meet us on the pitch.”

Harper’s gait immediately became more hurried, a bounce in his step. “Yes! I think I can block that one twisty Quaffle thing Lu does, I’m going to surprise him!”

“And break his heart,” Dietrich said dryly, “Lucas is exceedingly proud of that move.”

“He’s be prouder if he could make it better, wouldn’t he?” Harper questioned, grinning, “And we’ve got lots of time! We’re only Quidditch reserve players, we won’t become regulars until Flint _finally_ graduates.”

“You’re being treated like a regular lately, though,” I pointed out, “Even if Flint does yell at you a lot, especially when you started cackling madly at the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff game.”

Harper pouted. “That’s because I’m a reserve Seeker because of Malfoy. And why shouldn’t I laugh? _You_ could probably outfly the Hufflepuff Seeker, Lyssie, and you haven’t flown since the first year lessons!”

“Lys could probably outfly _Malfoy_ , since the idiot has not flown since his ‘injury’.” Dietrich added.

“He’s kind of stupid, getting slashed by a Hippogriff like that. They’re very nice, them.”

I frowned at Harper. “When’ve you met a Hippogriff? We don’t have Care.”

Harper smiled. “My Mum’s trading business in Egypt.”

“The transportation of Hippogriffs through third party merchants is illegal, Harper. They’re an A-class protected species.” Dietrich rattled off suspiciously.

“Not to mention, your Mum’s the one that got me _Shield of Light,_ right? It’s sort of a collector’s, you know. Very expensive, very rare, and this one is definitely a copy. A copy of a rare text that’s only documented as being part of museums or private collections.” I said.

Harper smiled innocently.

I squinted at him. “Is your Mum a smuggler?”

Harper grinned. “She’s an Egyptian merchant, Lyssie. She’s got a certificate and tattoo and everything.”

Dietrich and I glanced at each other, sharing a look. 

“She’s a smuggler.” Dietrich deadpanned. 

I nodded in agreement, ignoring Harper’s protests to the contrary. “This is why Harper blows things up all the time. He has pretty much unlimited access to volatile ingredients on a daily, and gets bored in class.”

“Do not!”

“You’re a filthy liar, Harper.”

“We’re all liars, we’re Slytherins!”

“Shut up, Harper.”

“Wow, no one’s said that in a long while- Isn’t that Granger’s cat?”

We all blinked at the orange streak that nearly ran over our toes, racing through the thin layers of snow and mud. I frowned at the sight, as I’d never seen the cat look anything less than impeccably groomed — unfortunate squashed face or not — and watched him dart straight for a certain nearby hill topped by a certain tree. The warning signs were all there, really, but I was distracted with Harper and my Soothsayer range was lengthened for the express purpose of avoiding the cloaked fucks, so when that odd-familiar conglomeration of colors and mismatched core song entered my senses, I jerked in response, whipping my head towards Crookshanks and the figure that joined him.

Dietrich’s wand was in his hand immediately, and though none of us were even close to producing _vapor,_ let alone a full Patronus, I knew that was the spell that was sitting on his tongue. Harper was a bit slower, but my boys trusted my Second as much as I did, so he shut his mouth and looked around for dementors. They both saw my aborted glance towards the cat, and both shuffled a little closer to me.

(Their awareness of my Mage Sight led them to protectiveness regarding the dementors, and a greater trust in my people-judgement. Jay and Nate often asked me to help them with escort group schedules and mentor-mentee business, even though the magical signature wasn’t too indicative such things; I was a Soothsayer, not an Empath or an Assessor, dammit.)

Dietrich’s eyes narrowed, trained on Crookshanks and the dog with him. “Lys?” he prompted.

I swallowed, wishing Sirius bloody Black in dog form hadn’t decided to draw attention from the worst sort of people. 

Slytherin _parvus_ rulers, _honestly._ Naturally suspicious and observant, especially with the Soothsayer that unwittingly gave him away as something suspicious that should be observed… The man had terrible luck.

“No, sorry… It’s just…” My mind whirled, trying not to give them reason to draw their attention on Sirius Black the dog, who was staring at us with Crookshanks, frozen and alert at the unexpected intruders. “That dog’s probably a familiar.”

(Dietrich researched, by himself, at age eleven, what Tom Riddle was. He found, from my little comments and from his own observations, that the black diary I’d been desperate to find was a _soul stealer._ By himself, a year ago. He might figure out the dog was a wizard, alert Snape or something, and everything would be shot to hell. I was rightly paranoid, okay?)

Harper frowned. “The one that looks like a Grim?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Their colors are a bit… odd. Human-ish but not. I know, ‘cos that’s how Percy’s rat looks and sounds, and I’m pretty sure that long-lived little git Scabbers is someone’s runaway familiar.”

Damn, I fucking saved that shit.

“Do the wards not keep such creatures out?” Dietrich added, frowning. Probably worrying about the dementors and me.

“Alby added a layer to keep the dementors out, though it can certainly be broken if they all chose to swarm it,” I explained, squinting at the wards, blinding myself a little, and then promptly looking away to save myself the headache, “Which is why, by the way, he’s back and forth with the Ministry, trying to get the dementor presence lessened. He _does_ try to do his job, you know. He might be crazy and distractible, but that’s literally how our _potesta_ describes me.”

“But you’re prettier.” Harper said brightly.

I spluttered in helpless laughter at the sheer _innocence_ in Harper’s face when he said that. Dietrich looked torn between yelling at Harper for accidental impropriety and agreeing. I grinned at Harper, ruffling his hair fondly. Best ignore the dog-that-isn’t-Sirius-Black and Crookshanks, who seemed to slowly be relaxing, though I’m sure not-Sirius-Black was panicking a little inside and could definitely hear us.

“I damn well _better_ be prettier than Alby,” I laughed.

“I said you were, didn’t I?”

I rolled my eyes, still grinning, then turned back to Dietrich. “Anyways, the wards won’t keep out an obviously friendly familiar. Especially if he came via the Forest, they’re purposefully a little weaker there so stray creatures aren’t zapped on sight and have the chance to go back into the depths. There’s a lot of weird ward shit in the Forest boundary, actually, most of which dates back to the Forest Treaty that the centaurs expect every Headmaster to uphold today.”

“Question!” Harper called.

“Answer,” I replied dryly.

“Everything. I don’t understand most of what you said.” he said.

I blinked. “We’ll tell Nate to put that in his History tutoring tomorrow.”

Harper nodded agreeably.

Dietrich frowned. “This still does not explain the familiar.”

I shrugged. “If my brother’s rat is any indication, they run away a lot. Let’s go inside now, yeah? I’m cold and I hate snow.”

“Fifth time!” Harper crowed, suitably distracted.

We did go inside, though, and I hoped that Sirius Black wouldn’t make a habit of running around in full view of students like that. It might’ve been luck, now that I think of it, for him to come across us. I, who knew exactly what he was and why he was here and waited for it, and two Slytherins who wouldn’t fuss if I didn’t; Slytherins who, as was our way, minded our own business unless something got in the way of our ambition. A stray familiar wasn’t likely to.

We walked away, and I felt eyes on my back. It was a bit foreboding, honestly.

 

**…**

 

It was two days until Winter Hols. Unlike last year, I was going back home; Ginny and I had plans to go to Diagon Alley together for Christmas shopping, and I had plans to have Percy supervise me on solitary trips that I might make my way back to Knockturn Alley and see the cambion again. Bill and Charlie wouldn’t be able to make it home, though, to Mum’s disappointment. She and Dad had written us Weasley kids as a collective to finalize plans; both sets of twins and Percy were set on returning, though not our youngest brother — Ron, surprisingly enough, had decided to stay.

(Or maybe unsurprisingly. Harry was having a tough third year, I heard, so the company of his two best friends would be good for him.)

My boys tended to stick with me if I ventured outside of the Hogwarts building, reasoning that a collective shitty Patronus was better than nothing; Alby managed to lessen the dementors, but only by a little bit. The wards still wouldn’t be able to handle it if they all chose to ram against a single point at once, but the Minister figured that they’d only do that if they sensed their quarry. But inside of Hogwarts, I still got to walk about on my own, free from their brand of insanity.

It was when I was hovering between the Kitchens to translate my _Sollertia Augurium_ that I’d had to pry out of Nate’s eager hands and the path to Ravenclaw tower to see Luna and snarl at the ‘Claws, despite it being so close to Winter Hols that I was waylaid by none other than Harry Potter.

“Lys!” he called, trotting towards me.

I blinked. Outside of the Hospital Wing, I didn’t see Harry alone much. “Harry,” I greeted, “You alright?”

Harry reached me, grinning crookedly. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Fred and George told me you’d be here.” He frowned, looking a bit puzzled. “I don’t know why they always know where you are, actually. You wouldn't happen to have a Tracking Charm or something on you, would you?”

I snorted. “Not that I know of, no. Maybe it’s a twin thing.”

Harry looked unimpressed. “Everyone says that about Fred and George, but I really don’t think that excuses all the chaos they create.”

“Just go with it, Potter. No one will ever be able to understand those two.” I chuckled. Then I folded my arms, tilting my head to one side. “Did you need me for something, Harry? Probably could’ve grabbed any Slytherin and I would’ve found you first.”

Harry shrugged. “Thought you wouldn’t want your snakes to know your secrets, if you can help it,” he said, “See, you know how both of us are really, really horrid against dementors?”

I nodded, having a feeling as to where this was going.

Harry grinned. “Well, on the train, Lupin drove off the dementor that came to our compartment. I asked him if he’d teach me, and he said he would next term. I was… Well, er, I was wondering if you’d like to come along? Since you have a worse reaction than me, yeah?”

I literally almost melted. Why the _fuck_ was Harry Potter this good of a person? How the _fuck_ did he turn out as nice as he did, with the Dursleys?

But I was a goddamn queen of Slytherin, so there was no gushing over adorable Potters or planning Muggle torment today, no thank you.

“It’s called the Patronus,” I said in reply.

Harry raised his brows . “You know it already?”

I barked out a laugh. “Know it? Ha! It’s much too Light for me to learn by myself in a month. Nah, but Harper and Dietrich really lost their heads when my magic put me into that damn coma, so they researched like mad. We’re… we’re really not doing well, though, so… I suppose if the offer still stands…?”

He nodded. “Of course it is. Maybe this is better. Reckon you'll be able to help me out? With the, er, Mage Sight thing."

"The Mage Sight thing does make it easier to break spells down into parts, yes," I answered with a nod, "Though I'm sure you'll be helping me as much as I'd be helping you."

Considering the fact that I was planning on, as much as possible, immersing myself in the presence of a half-demon within Knockturn Alley, the capital of the Dark Arts in this highly racist — both ends of the spectrum, anti-Muggle and anti-Slytherin  _both_ — magical society, I would need all the help I would get not to fall behind Harry.

Ah, well.

I grinned at Harry. “And didn’t I say last time, Potter? I can’t teach you anything, you’re too wise for me.”

“Does this mean I get to be _parvus potesta?”_ he teased.

“You’ll have my Slytherins clawing their eyes out when you do my copious amounts of paperwork, so not quite yet.”

He scowled half-heartedly. “Why do you always pick on my handwriting?”

“Because it’s your only flaw.” I deadpanned.

Harry’s cheeks tinted pink, just a little. “I'm sure there's more besides my handwriting." Then he smiled, still embarrassed-looking. "Isn't Snape your Head of House? Fred and George say he's always going on about me being a dunderhead in  _their_ class, he's probably torn my stellar reputation to shreds in yours."

I smirked. “Now, now, Potter, let's not be so modest. You just invited me to your private tutoring sessions with the only competent Defense Against the Dark Arts professor we’ve ever had, because you want to make sure I was alright next time a dementor came over.”

“You’re my Hospital Wing mate,” Harry said, grinning past his modesty, “If I learned to ward them off and you didn’t, we wouldn’t be held hostage by Madam Pomfrey together anymore, you know?”

“I’ll take that excuse, but only because I’m polite.”

Harry chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, that’s all I was looking for you for, Lys. Might be interesting, having a class together, right? Though Ron says you tend to make things explode.”

“Anything about explosions is a lie. Or Harper’s fault.”

“…I think I’ll trust my best mate on this one, Lys, no offense.”

I sighed. “Ah, well, it was a long shot. I probably won’t see you ’til next term, I suppose, so take care of my big brother for me, won’t you?”

Harry nodded agreeably. “Have a nice holiday, Lys.”

“You too, Harry.”

My friend walked off after that, though I stared thoughtfully at his back. Wasn’t he supposed to learn about Sirius Black’s supposed betrayal soon? Or was that during the holiday themselves? I hoped he would be alright, with Ron and Hermione staying at Hogwarts to support him; there was something I think we both found calming, about being able to talk to someone outside of our immediate circles of acquaintance.

I nodded to myself, turning on my heel and intending to go down to the Kitchens for some toast and butter. Whatever the case, when I came back, I’d have myself put into the Hospital Wing immediately; Harry could talk to a third-party all he wanted, and I’d get him through it just like how he got me through my difficulties with Tom Riddle: not completely, but enough to be able to breathe. 

That, and maybe if I helped him out with the Patronus — though, knowing my core, it might be the other way around — and Harry would have everything he needed for the rest of the year, right? Least I could do.

For now, though, I had to get some toast and pack for the train. At least my boys would be right pleased at this development; more Patronus help for me meant more Patronus help for them. I’d let them know as soon as I had my toast.

 

**…**

 

The train ride was uneventful, for the most part. 

Ginny opted to spend as much time with her Gryffindor friends as possible, seeing as she’d be away from them for a while, and I did pretty much the same thing. Only, this time, I decided to drag Luna to sit with us — after giving a few nasty hexes to the ‘Claws that were harassing her right before I found her lonely little compartment — and it was honestly… Well, I always forget how _weirdly_ Luna mixes with my boys until something like this happens.

“You’re _covered_ in nargles,” Luna said pityingly, gazing between Lu and Jay and Nate with a frown, patting Jay’s hand gently as she did, “I didn’t think I’d ever see so many nargles in the same room before.”

“Are they worse than I am?” I asked interestedly, watching the scenery whirl by in the window.

Luna made a little noise of distress. “Nargles and wrackspurts _everywhere._ They’re both worse and better than you, Guinevere. How aren’t you all drowning?”

I’d like to think that, besides her mother’s death, this was the actual most distressed I’d ever seen or heard my favorite female friend. So I looked up at my boys, who seemed puzzled and bewildered in turns by the horrified fascination on Luna’s face as she flitted her silvery eyes between them all, and I glared at them disapprovingly.

“Nate and Lu, stop distressing my childhood friend.” I ordered.

Lu spluttered. “Wha- It’s not my fault your ‘Claw friend hates me!”

Luna gasped a little. “Why would you think I hate you?”

He pointed a finger at her, glaring a little. “You just said so!”

She blinked at him innocently, and by the frowns on my boys’ faces, they just had a revelation as to why I was marginally better than most of them at seeing through Harper’s innocent looks. “You can’t help that the nargles are swarming you. I think you’re a rather nice person, actually, Lucas Vaisey. You make Guinevere very happy, which I think is very good.”

Lu reddened a little, glanced at me. I felt my own cheeks warm a little — Did Luna _really_ have to put it that way, dammit? — and rolled my eyes. “So you don’t get a big head, Lu, all you idiots make me happy, so please stop blushing.”

“You first.” Lu snapped, looking away in embarrassment.

Harper grinned. “We make you happy, Lyssie?”

I grimaced and shot a glare at Luna. “Yes, yes, you all do- Oof! Harper, you’re taller and heavier than me, _why_ do you insist on glomping all over me at every opportunity?”

“This is what I mean by nauseating.” Nate said helpfully.

Luna turned wide eyes on him while I tried to peel Harper off me (who was taking it as a challenge, that little _git)_ , making Nate raise his brows at her. She stared at him for a moment, then nodded. “You say lots of things you don’t mean.”

Nate twitched. “And you say lots of things that don’t make any sense at all.”

“Not to narrow-minded logic.” Luna replied serenely.

“Narrow or broad, your mind doesn’t _have_ logic, Lovegood. No wonder the Ravenclaws stay away from you- OW! Dammit, Guinevere, why do you keep sending _Stinging Hexes_ at me?!”

I narrowed my eyes, tucking my wand back away and resignedly allowing Harper to lean all over me, the overgrown puppy. “What did I say about playing nice, Nate? What do I _always_ say about playing nice, actually?”

Dietrich snorted. “Wilkes would not be able to play nice if his life depended on it.”

“I have others do the playing nice bit for me, thanks, Dietrich,” Nate said sweetly, “Remember Lucas last year?”

I sent another Stinging Hex at Nate, who flinched when it hit, but wisely backed down. Dietrich and Lu both sent me grateful looks in between scowling at Nate. The boy just really _loved_ to pick on our weak spots. But, like anything else, I was getting used to it; I had, after all, become friends with Tom Riddle, whose caustic insults were quite stinging for an eleven-year-old me, when I eventually drew him out of that polite facade of his.

Lu snickered at Nate’s fate, who then replied with some insult or other, and those two started furiously exchanging barbs; though, Lu bantering with Nate was usually Nate running circles around an increasingly frustrated Lu. Harper joined in just to make Lu feel better, though his comments were more inane than not, and Jay and Dietrich watched with amusement they wouldn’t ever admit. (None of them wanted to admit that Nate didn’t piss them off anymore, honestly; they'd grown thick skin with him about, which certainly helped in keeping our _parvus_ together.)

Luna hummed to herself happily, ignoring the chaos behind her as she plopped down next to me, taking Harper’s spot. “Such a colorful swarm! Guinevere, you must be so pleased with your knights. And I’m sure they’re really happy, too, since you’re the walls to their shadows.”

I pursed my lips at her. “You always say such embarrassing things.”

She giggled. “But it’s true! Did you know? The house of snakes was so dark, before, and there were nargles and wrackspurt _hives_ everywhere. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the pale boy infected everyone with his Loser’s Lurgy and Heliopaths started popping up. Then you came and everything is much brighter.”

“I feel that, as a naturally Dark-cored witch, I should be offended by how often you call me bright.”

Luna laughed. Then she blinked at me, quite suddenly. “You’re worried about something.”

I raised a brow, but Luna’s shifting moods weren’t all that odd to me anymore. “I’m a leader. I’m always worried about everything.”

She furrowed her brow. “You’re going to do something silly again, aren’t you? The wrackspurts really like making things fuzzy, you know. You shouldn’t always do what they say just because you’re impatient. The Dark and the smile inside of it will wait until summer.”

A smile in the dark. You know what that reminded me of?

A certain white mask, pale as bone, with nothing but a smile carved into it, all serrated teeth. That, and a flowing cloak of black that covered every inch of skin or scale or whatever might be on the body of the child of a demon.

“Ah, but I _am_ impatient,” I murmured, “And I’m running out of time.”

Luna looked at me sadly. “Don’t get swallowed by the dark, alright, Guinevere?”

“Not until I get your Christmas present, at least.”

“What about mine?” Harper demanded, intruding suddenly, bored of Nate and Lu’s snarling.

I grinned at him. “Of course you’ll get your present. Maybe after the Hols, since my family owl will probably die if I tried to send all of you presents at the same time.”

Harper frowned. “That’s no good. Owls should be treated more carefully, Lyssie.”

“It’s not like I can help it, our family has a total of two owls, and one of them is Percy’s.”

“Are you not in good standing with the Head Boy? Borrow his owl.” Dietrich called.

“You want me to use my relationship with my favorite brother to get to his owl so you can get your presents more quickly?” I asked skeptically.

Dietrich gave me a dry look. “What do I care for presents? Perhaps more than one letter a week would be called for.”

“It’s not my fault Errol’s old!” I protested.

Nate snickered. “I forgot that you were practically living on the streets, Weasley. You always have such poise in Slytherin.”

I gave Nate a flat look. “I’m not sure if I should be insulted or not.”

“Insulted,” Lu put in, glaring at Nate, “The bastard can’t even _compliment_ properly. Lyssie, I think we should demote him.”

“When you prove yourself better than Hippogriff dung in terms of _potesta_ administration, Lucas, I’ll step down myself.” sneered Nate.

“YOU LITTLE-!”

They scuffled back and forth, as Nate loved provoking and Lu was prone to reacting, and I had to roll my eyes. With how childish that insult had been, Nate was obviously being careful in holding his tongue back, which we all realized at least subconsciously, hence my not needing to actually step in. I sighed into my hand, leaning against it but not looking at the scenery again. I wanted to watch my idiots as long as possible, even if we’d all see each other in two weeks or so.

Heh. I’d miss them. I hoped to accomplish things without them being there as a distraction, but I really did love the distraction. And was it right to call them a distraction, if prolonging these moments was the entire point of all this work? Ah, I didn’t know anymore.

The train whistle blew before I realize we’d even pulled into King’s Cross, and I left my boys — all wearing dark, well-made robes befitting of their stations — and grabbed hands with my fiery-haired older sister and my pale slip of an adopted younger sister, and I looked forward to seeing my Mum and Dad again.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's 28, boys. I am v sorry if these chapters aren't as good but I'm literally writing them on the spot. DX But! I did put in some family things and plotty things (not to be confused with HP plot, more my OC plot) and this'll just about wrap up the Winter Hols! So, next time, I foresee Hogwarts and HP plot things. :D
> 
> As always, my heartfelt thanks to my readers and reviewers. XD A special place in my heart has been reserved for BajanZealandian, who has caught me and my Vaisey & Harper HP wiki easter egg, and Fee_Verte, who has commented faithfully for a long time and always has lovely, interesting things to say. And corrects me on my shitty German. :) You two, take a shout out.
> 
> But! This is not to say that the rest of y'all loyal commentors -- you know who you are :D -- aren't appreciated, because I very much appreciate you. I adore all of you. :D Thank you all very much. ^^

 

**…**

 

The Burrow smelled of peppermint and home-cooked meals, glowing faintly due to the wards Bill gifted us with years ago, swirling with my family’s colors. Mostly Mum’s, all warm and friendly reds and maroons, but there were streaks of Dad’s royal blue. My siblings’ colors were lessened, colors fading over the years (especially Bill's and Charlie's), but the Burrow welcomed us back anyways.

Mum was bustling around the kitchen, ready to fix us up a meal and loudly complaining about the fact that Ron wasn’t here and why didn’t he just invite Harry over, the poor dear? Ginny trailed after her, having always been closer to our mother (while I was closer to Dad, obviously), the twins retreating into their room and cackling between themselves ominously, Percy doing the same with quite a bit less cackling and a fond hair-ruffle for me on the way. I waited by the fireplace, knowing Dad would be coming home early (Flooing was more expensive but it was less annoying than the toilet entrances or having to elbow people around at the Apparition entrances) and wanting to see him more than anyone else.

When our clock chimed and I saw Dad’s clock face turn to TRAVEL, I grinned in anticipation. I fidgeted for nearly twenty minutes, sitting on the couch and staring at the fireplace, willing it to deliver my dad. And it did.

The fireplace flared green and Dad’s face chimed to HOME, and he barely stumbled through the soot before he was greeted with an armful of excited Seer-daughter.

“Happy Christmas, Dad!” I yelled, latching onto his waist and holding tight even as he nearly stumbled back into the Floo.

Dad laughed, delighted and surprised and half-grunting with the force of my weight, and I couldn’t even grin up at him before he’d tossed his briefcase to the side and bodily lifted me, hugging me to his chest and swinging around. I squeaked but adjusted, laughing as Dad did, and we almost rammed into the furniture when Dad stopped and gripped my shoulders, peering into my face and studying fondly.

“Hello, my little queen,” he chuckled.

I beamed. “Hello, Dad!”

The rest of my siblings showed up to greet Dad, Ginny getting a similar bear hug and a kiss on the forehead, and Mum pecked Dad on the cheek, but I stuck with him most of the night. As busy as I was, I still loved my dad the most; he was my favorite, and I was sure I was his (secretly). Over the years, he’d gotten a bit thinner and had lost his muscle, making him look even more wiry than before, and there were flecks of grey in his hair, and he had crow’s feet around his eyes, but he remained as clever and warm as ever.

Sitting down to dinner, I found myself missing Harper and Lu’s antics, Nate’s quiet barbs, Jay’s small comments, and Dietrich’s dry commentary; but my sister was sneaking vegetables onto my plate — like the _child_ she was, honestly — and the twins were driving Mum spare and Percy was talking to Dad about a job in the Ministry after his graduation this year, and I smiled contently.

When Percy started yelling at the twins for throwing something suspicious in his hot chocolate, Dad turned to me.

“How’s the year so far, Lyssie?” he asked.

I smiled. “Besides the dementors, all’s well.”

Dad nodded thoughtfully. “No more trouble with them after the last time?” Dad had  _not_ been pleased to learn via letters that I'd put myself into a Seer coma because of dementors. I don't think he and Mum had time to visit, but I remember the written pleas for me not to go near the Forbidden Forest or anything for the rest of the year.

I shook my head. “Alby made the Ministry back off. I’m trying to find more time for meditation, too. It’s a bit chaotic, though.”

“Chaotic?”

I chuckled. “My friends, Dad. And Slytherin. Why didn’t you ever warn me that making a bunch of snakes part of me and mine would result in so much craziness in my life? I might’ve done something differently.”

He raised a brow. “You wouldn’t have avoided yours, Lyssie.”

“Nah, but I would’ve prepared more thoroughly for how much of a headache it is, having to take over an entire House to keep them safe and happy. Did you know that Malfoy answers to me, now?”

Dad grinned. “Oh? Do tell, little queen. I’d love to have something to say to Lucius at the Ministry next time we cross paths.”

I smiled. “You can have all the details you want, as long as I don’t get a lecture on all the odd Slytherin things I have to do. Oh! And I want to go to Diagon Alley for Christmas shopping, and you can’t peek at anything so no supervision for a few hours!”

He reached over to squeeze my resting hand affectionately. “There’s my Slytherin daughter, making deals left and right. Sounds reasonable enough, I think. Whatever you’d like, little queen.”

I grinned at Dad, and only felt a minuscule amount of guilt at the notion that I’d be sneaking into Knockturn Alley without permission. Minuscule guilt… Heh, my boys would be ashamed of me. They were trying so hard to shoo the Gryffindor side of me away, too.

 

**…**

 

Wandless Shrinking Charms on all my presents — mostly small things, lots of books that I’d had to have retouched a little, some drawings and Transfigured baubles and such, nothing that I couldn't buy with much saved-up pocket money — had them stowed away in my pockets. I tied my hair back, though lots of it was too choppy and short for most, and then drew the hood down. I removed my Warming Charm, much to my discomfort, thinking it better to pull my magic in and be as colorless as possible as I stepped through Knockturn Alley’s quiet, nondescript entrance.

Diagon Alley was all festivities and cheer, warm with the jostling crowd, music playing, colorful ribbons around the red flowers of the lampposts and bells ringing from them. Knockturn Alley was a twisted parallel to that, dark-robed bodies pushing past and against each other, hunched shoulders and foul breath. Crooked cobblestones and half-busted lamps weren’t decorated, but there was a light dusting of snow and ice that made it seem slightly more wintery than normal; that, and the damn cold.

I drew my magic in as tightly as it could, the indigo squirming uncomfortably with how tightly I packed it into my slight body, and then started to… well, for lack of better word, dust colorlessness into it. It took concentration enough to get me sweating, but slowly the tendrils of deep crimson and silver shuddered and blanked, effectively camouflaging into the background and rendering myself into, upon first glance, a Muggle.

Honestly, there was no reason for me to do this but to show the cambion that I _had_ learned some new tricks from the books it had graciously given me. Though, “graciously” is a bit far; I paid for both in blood and knowledge and memory, all of which are supposed to be held much closer to heart than I demonstrated.

I made my way to The Rookery after struggling to bring to mind the directions; another sign that my Occlumency barriers were shitty. My memorization and memory recall were so much crappier when they were this tattered, dammit. At least I didn't come across any Brotherhood of Mirrors this time; I'm sure it was the camouflaging of my colors that did that, though. At least I had  _some_ skills.

The silver bell’s clear, flute-like tone sang out when I stepped through the door.

The place hadn’t changed at all since the summer; it honestly felt like a different dimension, stepping into The Rookery. The deceptively small figure of the cambion was standing behind the cash register as it had been before, all black cloth and white mask that grinned at me.

Its voice was clear, chuckling coldly — though I don’t think it meant to sound cold. I don’t think it meant to sound like anything human, because the cambion had never disguised that it wasn’t. That’s probably why this place felt like a different dimension.

“Well, well,” came the clear voice, not low and not high — nothing to prove gender or narrow down identity, “I had thought I would never taste such lovely blood or feast on such sweet memories again and yet… here you are, again, reveler.”

What was that phrase? When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back into you.

I felt like smiling at the half-demon was like smiling at the abyss.

“Hello, again, cambion.” I said, even as I strengthened the shit out of my Occlumency barriers.

My Occlumency barriers that were still not at full strength, especially since the dementor attack at the Quidditch game.

“Welcome, reveler. I admit to hoping for your return,” said the cambion, gliding from around the counter to approach me silently, “Not expecting, no — you humans are so wary of your ineffectual Ministry — but… hoping. And here you are, reveler… my own little Christmas gift.”

I raised a brow, sure that the cambion could see it under my hood. “Do demons do Christmas?”

The cambion chuckled again. “We like exchanging gifts, just like any other sentient. What bargain do you seek today, reveler?”

“Can I exchange nonconventional currency for nonconventional wisdom?”

“Oh? You aren’t searching for a book in particular? How disappointing… I set aside everything on the Mind Eater and her spawn, just for you.”

I frowned. “All in… hopes that I’d come back?”

Another small laugh. “Seer blood and memories… I do not think there are words in your language to describe how _wonderful_ it is, to consume such a thing. And given so willingly? My dear reveler, it is a drug with no negative aspects except the fact that it is limited.”

“…That’s a little daunting. Wars are fought over such… resources. And those wars usually destroy those resources.”

“Ah, but that’s only if other parties are aware of such a resource in the first place. Dear reveler, I am a demon — I do not like to share. But enough of this… You are offering more, are you not? I gladly accept, though, in your words, I would know the terms first, before the bargain.”

I nodded. “The translation of _Sollertia Augurium_ is going very slowly.” I began.

The cambion tilted its head to one side, like a bird. I’d forgotten how tall it was, towering above me; though, honestly, if it had grown since I’d seen it, I couldn’t be too surprised — logic just really didn’t apply in this magical world of ours.

“What do you seek from the Mind Eater, reveler?” asked the cambion.

I hesitated. “Answers.”

The cambion laughed, the sound ringing with an underlying, distinctly inhuman growl. “Succinct, I suppose.”

I snorted, despite myself. “Apologies, but what I’m looking for from Helvynya Prevett won’t be reached until I can examine everything she is, and that can only be done if I can translate her work properly. I’m too slow and I’m running out of time.”

War was going to break out in a little more than a year. I was preparing, little by little, gathering my allies and making a safe place so potential enemies could become neutral instead of full-on enemies. I was learning combat and Healing and warding, ready to hide my family behind the strongest shields I could make, ready to defend me and mine so **_that future_** would never be seen in anything more than my head. It was only my own intense curiosity that drove me towards Helvynya Prevett; she was a key to _why_ that future existed in the first place. She’d _done something_ with her Clairvoyance — made a choice— that resulted in the deaths and torments of my brothers.

I wanted to understand what her choice was, so that I could better counter it. I didn’t need to know the why, in order to defend what was mine, but it would make it infinitely easier and more bearable if I did. And I’d have no time to chase the shadows of dead women when the war came. I didn’t want to set aside this project.

(Why was I born into this world? Why me? Why now?)

The cambion watched as I tried to process my own thoughts.

Then it leaned in, hand brought up to touch at my face. I should’ve flinched away, but the black cloth touched at my cheekbone gently. From the feel of the cloth, there were not human fingers underneath the cloth. It was… oddly surreal. The mask was right up in my face.

“Your Occlumency shields are much, much weaker than what they were, reveler.”

I nodded. “I turned twelve and ran into a few dementors.”

The cambion cocked its head again. “That would explain it. Hm… You realize, dear human, that you would grasp such pursuits of intellect more firmly if your mind was not in disarray? Perhaps I might offer my services in such for our bargain?”

I frowned, thinking to myself. It honestly…

Well, it was a bad idea. This was a Legilimency-specialized cambion; it was bad enough that I let it into my head for payment when I was under control, but helping someone craft Occlumency barriers was a very intimate thing to do. Dad was the last person I’d let into my head that freely, and that was _years_ ago, and I’d probably never let him in for anything less than preserving my own sanity at this point; the mind grew much, much more guarded as the body aged, after all, even subconsciously. ( _Especially_ subconsciously.) The Mind Arts were so, _so_ delicate.

But that was reason enough to accept the help, too. I would never be a master Occlumens, despite my head start via being a Seer. Sure, Seers naturally had a bit of talent in it, but Occlumency was a rather Light practice and I was anything but. (Legilimency would be much more up my alley, but I wasn’t interested in that.) I’d never get to the point where I could build a mindscape, not many of the Dark would, but I _could_ have some very sadistic defenses, being a Seer. I just didn’t have the skill to make such defenses right now, especially since I still needed to build my shields back up from where the dementors tore them down.

The help would be very, very nice. I had intended to ask for some way to translate it quicker, like a book or a ritual or something, but Occlumency help covered more than just _Sollertia Augurium._ Occlumency help mean my Clairvoyance would be less distant; I used to have visions all the time, since my barriers were designed to be semi-permeable and all that rot, but now? I barely had them, except as nightmares when I slept. And, really, the book would bond to my magic better if I translated it by hand; it would make it much less uncomfortable to be thumbing through the pages for me, and much _more_ uncomfortable for anyone else who didn't know my magical signature well. 

Yes… an organized mind would relieve a lot of the pressure on me, help me learn, get me to Helvynya Prevett’s secrets faster so I could protect me and mine better. Every tool in my arsenal was important, and Occlumency was an underrated one thus far.

Shit. To trust or not to trust, right?

“Should I write a contract?” I asked dryly, though partly seriously.

The cambion took a step forward. “If you so desire.”

The piqued my interest. The cambion took contracts seriously. “Can I come back with it, then?”

“The Rookery will always welcome paying customers.”

“I don’t know when I’ll be able to come back. Maybe once or twice before the term starts again.”

“Perhaps write a contract for rudimentary shields and repair,” the creature suggested, “And another, more intensive one, for when you have free reign to return whenever you wish. If it’s the dangers of our Alley was frighten you, I can always… arrange something. I am not one to let such a willing Seer slip by me.”

I smiled a little. “And I’m not one to make a difficult journey for nothing. You said you set aside some books?”

The cambion chuckled. “Ah, yes.” It turned, shuffled around behind the front counter, then there was a modest stack of leathery old tomes under its clothed hands. “These. Biographies and conspiracy theories, stories, myths. All about Helvynya Prevett, Estmaro Wealse II, Ambrose Wealse, and some on Estmaro I and other family members.”

I looked over the pile curiously. The cambion slid a small, delicate book out from under a larger, thicker volume, placing it on top. It was worn and the pages were yellow with age, but a flicker of Mage Sight revealed some dauntingly strong colors and a quiet hum, though they moved… oddly. Pulsing between two main colors and patterns, a jolt of static between two similar songs.

“This is the crown of them all,” the cambion admitted, as if it were some gleeful secret rather than a business transaction, “A diary _Geminio_ under stasis rituals done in the writer’s blood. The diary of Helvynya Prevett’s sister, Seraphina Prevett. A childhood one to be sure, but still. Perhaps your answers will be found here?”

I raised a brow. “And that’s not as valuable as _Sollertia Augurium?”_

“The Mind Eater details her life’s work in that reading, dear reveler. There are few Legilimens or Occlumens in this world, but every one of them — if they strive to pursue the Mind Arts properly — will want to know what secrets she uncovered through means that were made illegal _because_ of the publishing of this book.”

I shivered a little. Good fucking Merlin, my ancestor was frightening. The Mind Eater, that’s what she was called. Goddamn.

“I’ll take them all.” I said, nodding.

Behind the mask, the abyss smiled back.

“Ah, reveler… I was so hoping you would say that.”

 

**…**

 

“I don’t understand why your anaemia acted up today of all days!” Ginny muttered, fluffing a pillow and patting it into place obsessively, brow creased with worry, “Rubbish Christmas present, if you ask me.”

I burrowed into my blankets a little guiltily. I knew exactly why my anaemia decided to rear its head.

This morning, I’d gotten out of bed at the cheerful insistence of Ginny and the demon twins, and I’d nearly collapsed onto the floor when a wave of vertigo hit me with all the grace of a flailing hippogriff. To me, I’d rolled out of bed and then I was suddenly on the floor with George looking down at me worriedly and Ginny and Fred screaming for Mum, but my three siblings had the pleasure of watching me pass out, if only briefly.

Which was understandable, since the less than twenty-four hours ago, I gave several teacups of blood to a cambion and had it wait patiently outside my shields while I riffled through my mind for the kinds of memories dementors liked to drag up in me. God, and it hurt like a bitch because my barriers were so shitty! Unfortunate that I couldn't do the rudimentary repair right then and there. But yes, not a good idea for someone whose iron levels were already rather below average. Not severely, since I did take care of myself and took Iron Supplement, but still. Not smart.

I let Ginny fuss, though. She liked to be fussy, since normally our brothers were much more fussy for her. It was a break from the monotony, for her, to fuss over me again like she used to. Hogwarts forced all us Weasleys to break apart a bit; no one had crept into my room in years, squeezing my hands to ward off nightmares. I learned how to get used to them, I suppose, and it was assumed they were gone, which they mostly were.

In any case, it was a bit nostalgic.

She started pulling an old quilt around my shoulders, and I reached up to squeeze her fingers fondly. Ginny gave me a puzzled look — slightly frustrated and worried, I think — and I smiled at her in reply.

“Happy Christmas, Gin.” I said cheerfully.

She glared at me. “Don’t you, ‘Happy Christmas, Gin’ me, Lyssie! Are you slacking with your supplements?!”

I groaned at my failure of a distraction. “Not you, too. Dietrich’s already on my case about that.”

“Good!” She crossed her arms, nodding to herself. “I’m glad at least your _subconscious_ knows that you’re a reckless, self-destructive _idiot_ and you need minders. Once I got over myself last year, I was incredibly worried that you’d keel over in Slytherin, you know. You’re _worse than Percy_ , sometimes, and we have to bodily drag him out of his room to get him to eat sometimes!”

“I’m not that bad! I like eating!”

“You’re picky. You eat buttered toast and sometimes chicken noodle soup and that’s it.”

“Lies!”

She raised a brow, and I quietly wondered if this was how my opponents in Slytherin felt. “You’re going to deny that you’re a picky eater?”

I pouted. “ _You_ sneak me vegetables all the time, don't you? So I eat like a child. So what?”

“It’s unhealthy! Why do you hate salad?”

“It’s tasteless!”

“That’s what dressing is for, stupid!”

“I hate sauces!”

“But _why?”_

How to explain to my sister that I was allergic to so many things in my last life that I became a picky eater out of necessity? Nuts, peanuts, beans — those were out for the count, and when I was younger, I’d been allergic to milk and eggs, too. Hence, no mayo or any of that stuff. No condiments because I ate very plainly so I could taste if things were allergens or not. Except this body wasn’t allergic to that stuff, though my mind rejected it anyways. Nuts and peanut dishes? Out. Condiments? No. I ate macaroni and chicken nuggets and buttered toast in my last life, and it was fine. Absolutely fine.

Yeah, this was not something I could explain to Ginny.

So, to prove my maturity resulting from my reincarnate state, I stuck out my tongue at her.

“Stop lecturing me! You sound like Mum. Or Dietrich.”

“That’s my point! Even _you_ know you need someone to scold you!”

“I was never scolded when we were little, I’m making up for it now.”

“Dad scolded you.”

“Dad scolded me when I used my Sight for stupid things or tried to set the gnomes on fire with wandless magic. Dunno why, the little pests keep bothering Mum and I’m sure we could just Vanish the ashes…”

Ginny stared at me. “You know, I never really thought about it, but you’re really, really Dark, aren’t you?”

I was the one raising my brow this time. “It hasn’t been obvious?”

“Well… no? When we were little, you never showed that sort of… desire to win? You always let me do things first, and you always helped me out. Never started fights, took any scolding really well… I mean, you never _ever_ bragged about being a Seer to anyone, or anything like that. You never seemed Dark, but come to think of it, you really liked setting things on fire and tormenting Scabbers, didn’t you?”

“I still do,” I answered with a grin, thinking about how I used to piss Scabbergrew off when I was young, “And you’re right, you know. All those are signs of a Dark allegiance in a young child, one who doesn’t know how to channel their will to dominate any better. But, you forget, dear sister, I _am_ a Clairvoyant. I Saw what those sorts of children grew into and did, their cores left to fester and grow Mad. Those were the types that followed You-Know-Who. The types that killed our uncles.”

Ginny’s face grew grim. “I didn’t know you checked yourself like that. Wasn’t it difficult?”

Eh. I didn’t want this solemnity during Christmas of all days. “Yes, because you were a little brat.”

My sister flushed. “Shut up, Lys!”

I laughed. “And I loved you dearly, and still do, so I took care that my Dark allegiance wasn’t flared about with such petty little acts. So you and our brothers wouldn't exchange too much and change allegiances because of me. I've become much, much Darker since Hogwarts, you know. And anyways, you being Dark would be frightening. You’re scary enough, Light as you are.”

She sniffed. “Light and Dark don’t mean not-scary and scary, Lyssie. You should know that.”

I rolled my eyes. “I used to hang about _Alby_ , Gin, I know how frightening a Light core can be.”

Ginny smirked, plopped down next to me, leaning her head on my blanketed shoulder. I smiled a little, undoing a bit of the cocoon so her eyes lit up and she could crawl inside with me. The Burrow was warm but it was better when I had my twin with me; we may not have been like Fred and George, but we had been carried together for nine months and I remembered that her colors were one of the only ones that gave me comfort in those first few months of realization.

When I let the blinders off my Mage Sight, I saw our colors swirling together lazily. Our songs were quiet but calm, blending together harmoniously — not as well as Fred and George’s, or Mum and Dad’s — and her reds and maroons curled around my indigo, welcomed the deep crimson I’d taken as my own, settled together gently. It was very lovely.

“I’m gonna nap.” I mumbled.

“You should, since you fainted today and everything.”

“Please get me hot chocolate when I wake up.”

Ginny scoffed. “We’ll go get some together. I want the hazelnut stuff you always refuse.”

“I don’t like nuts.”

“Then you’re weird. Go to sleep, Lyssie.”

“Wake me up for presents?”

“Obviously. Fred and George will probably carry you to the living room themselves. As in, George will probably carry you while Fred annoys me. Why do you have the nicer twin and I get the git?”

“Fred would be so upset if you said that to him. Also, George is just more conscious of my weaker body since Fred usually made him sit with me when I was having trouble running when we were little. While you and Fred ran around.”

“Merlin, no need to make me guilty. Now go to sleep, dammit!”

“Language.”  


“Shut up, Lyssie.”

I decided, anaemia notwithstanding, it was a good Christmas.

 

**…**

 

* * *

 

Lys,

 

You want me to write you a contract with a demon.

You want me to write you a contract with a demon because you are going to willingly allow it within your mind to aid you in constructing Occlumency barriers to streamline your learning processes.

You want me to write you a contract with a demon so that it will not use anything it sees in your mind against you.

You want me to write this contract for you.

WHAT ON GOD’S BLOODY EARTH ARE YOU THINKING-

 

* * *

 

The rest of the letter was so covered in ink splatters and curses and smeared words that I burst out laughing and nearly fell down the stairs. That was Dietrich for you. Overprotective git probably had an _aneurysm_ when I sent him that letter.

Though… it was quite… I hate to say it again, but it was _understandable._ I was making a deal with a demon so I wouldn’t have to worry about Occlumency anymore, which would be _fantastic._ It might even give me a better measure of control over the Clairvoyance, and that was important. Only, Dietrich didn’t know about the Clairvoyance so all he assumed was that I wanted something trivial from this. And that very deeply echoed our first year, the Chamber year, and he was probably freaking out that I actually hadn’t learned my lesson from that and had gotten _worse_.

Well… Soul stealer or cambion? Which was worse? Maybe I got better, y’know?

I was lucky Dietrich still had a cool head when he was pissed. Otherwise it might’ve been a Howler, and then I’d be screwed. My best friend yelling at me about making deals with demons in Knockturn Alley at the breakfast table? Yeah, Mum would kill me. Dad would probably also kill me. Oh god, and Percy and Ron and Ginny…

Where was Bill and Charlie, the calmer siblings, when I needed them? Fred and George making light of everything didn’t substitute for their all-encompassing nonchalance with things. Charlie might even be interested in _meeting_ my cambion not-friend. Business partner?

Well, in any case.

The letter from Harper was a lot longer, and much more cheerful.

 

* * *

 

Lyssie,

 

Sounds like you’re having a very interesting break! I am, too, since I’m in Egypt with my Mum again. She’s doing merchant things, but she’s really impressed with my progress with the Patronus! She’s giving me pointers, since she’s Light. Dad knows how to make a shield, but not an animal. 

Do you think we’ll be able to make the animals? It’s called a corporeal Patronus, if you didn’t know, though you probably did. It’ll be tough because we’re Dark and young, but I hope my Patronus animal is wicked! Lu said mine would probably be a rabbit and I used that blister-thingie potion we accidentally made to seal his last letter. He hasn’t written back yet.

Anyways, the cambion! You want to write a contract for it? That’s pretty safe, though I really don’t think you should be letting it into your head. But at least you didn’t do it right off, and waited for a contract, even if demons don’t really honor written agreements as much as spoken. Which means you’ve got to write a script sorta thing, one that you speak aloud!

I dunno much more than that. I could ask Mum but she’d be really, really worried if I hinted at being friends with a cambion. Maybe Lu’s family library has something? Or Jay’s, since his dad had free access to the Department of Mysteries before.

Anyways, I hope Dietrich didn’t scold you too much. He sent me a very panicky letter. It was sorta funny, but I also felt bad for him. You know he freaks out at every little thing, don’t you? Oh, and thanks for the present! This scarf is so warm. Hope you liked yours! I think it’s funny we gave each other scarves, actually. Did Jay’s gloves fit? He thought you’d like some dueling gloves.

I’ve got to go, but write back soon!

 

Tristan Harper

 

* * *

 

Lu and Jay, well. 

Lu didn’t have the best of relationships with his family; the motto “heir and a spare” certainly applied to Lu and his brother, Edward. With Edward not being incompetent or insane, he was a viable heir, meaning Lu was sort of… neglected, I think. Not physically, that wasn’t possible with House Elves, but… Well. There was a reason behind the boy’s willingness to bully and threaten his way to leadership — to _companionship_ of any kind — last year.

And Jay… That was a different story. The boy rarely spoke of home; if he did, it was about his mother. I remember from last life that his father, Augustus Rookwood, was Voldemort’s spy as an Unspeakable and was incarcerated with the Lestranges and Crouch and all the rest.

We didn’t… well, we _tried_ not to pry into Jay and Lu and Nate’s histories. Dietrich had no Death Eater family history, with his being half German and French, and Harper was on the verge of being a halfblood, only being apart of the Harper Family out of technicality; he wasn’t even main branch. Those two, and myself, we could freely talk about our home lives. My other three, with Death Eater parents that likely made their home lives straining? I wouldn’t force them to recount things like that.

_Also,_ I thought to myself, frowning at Harper’s much happier letter, _I need to remember that Harper’s first name is Tristan, and start calling him that. But it’s so_ weird _, he doesn’t sound like a Tristan at all!_

By the time I’d flopped down onto my bed, I’d mentally planned out replies to these two letters, plus some of the thank-you’s from my boys and Josephine and some of the other Slytherins I was on neutral terms with. Small gift for those, like candy, of course. Josephine got some of that, plus a few notes on some upper-years from other Houses, blackmail material and the like; especially that little fuck in Ravenclaw, Towler, who wouldn’t stop flirting with the girl.

My writing painstakingly — a wandless _Wingardium Leviosa_ on a flat book so I could lie in bed and write — was what Percy walked in on when he came in. He was, quite grumpily, wearing his Weasley sweater, and the scarf I’d gotten him to match it. He didn’t look perturbed at all at my position, carefully waiting for me to stop writing to sit himself on the edge of my bed, near my waist.

I glanced at him. “I hate that Harper’s first name is Tristan.”

That Percy didn't blink at the sudden subject and dove right into it was telling of our relationship. “His first name isn’t Harper?”

I shookmy head, starting to write again. “Nah. I can’t come up with a cute nickname for him, the way Lu and Jay and Nate have theirs.”

“You don’t call Bastion anything.” pointed out my brother.

“Dietrich is… Dietrich. I don’t know how to shorten it.”

Percy pushed up his glasses, sat back a little. We settled into companionable silence again. One of the things I loved the most about Percy — and this went for Dad, Bill, Dietrich, and Jay as well — was that we could simply sit with each other. Harry, too, come to think of it, with all the Hospital Wing things. Some people liked chatting and doing things incessantly, like Harper and Lu and Nate and the demon twins, but it was nice to just… be able to relax like this.

“Thank you for the scarf, Lyssie.” Percy spoke up suddenly.

I grinned a little, but kept writing. “Of course, Perce. Thanks for the earmuffs. I really hate the cold, they’ll help. And the color’s really nice, too! My favorite indigo color. Where’d you buy them, then?”

“…made them.”

I blinked, pausing and looking at my lightly blushing brother. “You knitted those yourself?”

Percy cleared his throat. “Well, it’s not like we have a lot of money, Lyssie. Mum taught me.”

I gaped, in awe of my big brother more than ever. “Percy, why are you so perfect? Why did Penelope break up with you, you’re literally the best?”

He flushed a darker shade of red. “Penelope and I had… disagreements on the future.”

I snickered. “You two were _sixteen._ Why were you thinking of the future?”

“Mother and Father married right out of Hogwarts.” he reasoned, shrugging. Then he eyed me. “Which you will not be emulating, Lyssie. With any of your friends. Ever. Especially Tristan Harper. I’ve heard through the grapevine that his sect of the family is underworld-related.”

I shot up (dodging the levitating book), crying out triumphantly, “HA! I knew it! His mum’s a smuggler!”

Percy flicked my temple, rolling his eyes. I pouted, exaggerating the wince.

Then I thought. My brother… He was slated to go work at the Ministry, wasn’t he? An Undersecretary for Crouch, I think, is the position he applied for; hadn’t heard back yet, but according to canon he’d get it, and knowing my brother, in this world he would, too. Which meant he was good at organizational duties and legalese and such things.

Such things as contracts.

“Hey, Perce?”

“Yes, Lyssie?”

“Do you know the contracts between Legilimens and Occlumens instructors and instructees, by any chance? Since, y’know, Dad and I didn’t do that, ‘cos we’re family. I didn’t think to look it up last Diagon Alley trip.”

Percy frowned. “Hm… They might not be found in normal books, or public records. I’d say that’s a private matter between a mentor and a mentee, so perhaps in private collections? Since the Mind Arts have such a small community, it’s very… master and apprentice, you know?”

I nodded. “So Alby would have a version that, if he had an Occlumens or Legilimens student, he’d give to them. And someone else would have their own version, probably passed down from whoever taught them?”

“It’s not _quite_ master-and-apprentice level, mind you, Lyssie. That fell out of favor a while back, with how many people abused the system. Though I hear the pureblood Dark sometimes use it, not that they’d show you the tattoos.”

“But it’s close?”

Percy nodded. “Close as it can be, I think. Enough that those contracts aren’t public record.”

I narrowed my eyes. “But if you’re classically trained in Occlumency or Legilimency then you’ll know them. Why didn’t I have any contracts like that with Alby?”

Percy frowned, as he always did when I called Dumbledore by my preferred nickname for him. Then he reached over and poked my head. “Perhaps because Father was your primary teacher? The Headmaster usually did nothing other than test your shields, didn’t he?”

“I used to show him some visions.” I admitted.

“Well, you gave him verbal consent for that, I assume? And he probably stated that he would not reveal anything he saw? Yours wasn’t an official pseudo-apprenticeship, Lyssie. You were more Father’s apprentice than the Headmaster’s, and it was only so that your visions weren't so…”

“Overwhelming.”

He nodded again. “Yes. And they aren’t, are they?”

I smiled. “It’s better than when I was little.”

Which it was. But it was worse than when I was eleven; I used to See a lot more, in a much more controlled setting. I think what was happening was that rather than controlling my visions, my collapsing shields were absorbing or blocking them, which put a strain on my mind and health — the strain I hadn’t really paid attention to because no visions was better than too many, as witnessed with the dementors. My shields weren’t working the way they should’ve, point being.

Ergh. What a bloody nightmare. The more I thought about this issue, the more serious it seemed. And the faster I should get to writing a contract so the cambion could set it to rights, as I obviously didn’t have the skill or time to do so myself within the timeframe I’d set.

In any case, I had a lead for the contracts. My boys would help, once I let them in on it and calmed Dietrich down — he'd likely demand such an airtight contract that it'd be disgusting, which was exactly what I needed here; his Chamber-induced paranoia  _was_ good for things, I swear it was — and I could possibly ask Alby, maybe even Professor Snape, about those contracts to base mine off of. I'd have to thank Percy subtly at some point for the idea, because I really would like to not be attacked by a cambion but still get what I wanted from it.

Percy ruffled my hair. “Good. Well then, I do think Mother said something about hot chocolate before Diagon Alley?”

My eyes lit up. “We’re going?”

“You and I, yes. No one else wants to read, apparently.” Percy rolled his eyes.

I grinned. “Thank you, Perce!”

He let me hug him without any trouble. “I know you were upset at Christmas, being confined to your bed. Just don’t tire yourself out so much this time, Lyssie.”

I nodded. “I just want to pick up some books I asked for last time and read them before the Flourish and Blotts clerks realize I’m not actually buying them.”

A somewhat lie. I still needed to pick up some books from the cambion, since out of the nine it had set aside for me, I’d elected to only bring three back after I’d paid in memories and blood. I might also discuss a verbal contract and reaffirm its unsaid promise not to reveal anything from my head. Not that it didn’t just linger outside my shields and let me push the memories at it, but still; Harper and Dietrich’s letters were worrying me.

Percy just nodded at my given explanation. “Little Slytherin.”

“I’m _parvus potesta_ reigning.” I retorted, gently shoving Percy out of my room so I could change.

“I should be much more worried about your following Head Girl Zabini’s footsteps.” he sighed.

I looked at my brother slyly. “I see you two interact, you know. Especially after the first time you tried to tell her off for ‘corrupting’ me, which you didn’t. You think she’s clever and pretty, Percy, you should be _glad_ I’m following your new crush’s footsteps.”

Percy flushed. “How do you know that??”

I grinned at him. “Hm? Well, we’ve got the same taste, dear brother.”

Then I slammed the door shut and ignored Percy’s panicked yelling and the banging on the door, loudly humming to myself and wondering what information I might be able to drag out of the cambion to reassure Dietrich when I replied. I might have it guide me into putting quick repairs on my shields myself, since I really didn't want it inside of them until I wrote the contracts. That would help quite a bit, I think.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *screams a little* 
> 
> I just finished this chapter. Like... I agonized over this one, even with my three-day weekend. So, in light of that, I have to do the shitty thing and announce: NO CHAPTER NEXT WEEK. I am SO sorry, but I'd rather you guys are informed and get nice, thought-out chapters rather than wait forever for crappy, last-minute ones like this one. :'( I'm going to try to catch up as much as possible so the weekly updates are back, but for now, I'm struggling a bit.
> 
> But! I am very, very happy that this is being followed and commented on and given kudos as much as it has! XD I hit 600 kudos and have nearly 240 bookmarks and, wow, that is so COOL. :D Like, I love you guys. Thank you so much for reading and commenting, and I'm sorry I've gotta delay the next chapter. :(

 

**…**

 

I’d forgotten what it felt like to _not_ have shitty Occlumency barriers.

It’s… not that big of a difference, not in daily life. Not the barriers I put together, with spoken guidance from the cambion. It taught me some tricks of the trade, some short cuts that were within my skill level — very much reminding me of writing back and forth about wards and healing with Tom Riddle — but I had told it that I was wary of letting it in my head to actually do construction. The cambion was understanding, thankfully, and I did a patch-up job that was of _much_ higher quality than the one after the dementors.

Ah, right. The way it showed. Well, for one thing, as soon as the Hogwarts Express passed the patrol borders where the dementors were — double the numbers, since it was the start of the new term,as I was helpfully informed by my worried father before us Hogwarts kids left — I didn’t grit my teeth in anger. My emotions weren’t shut away, not the way Dietrich’s were, but the instinctive negatives which were part instinct, since I was a Seer, weren’t as strong. That, and the translation for _Sollertia Augurium_ was going _fabulously._

Enough that it took me until dinner to start getting suspicious.

“Are Jay and Nate alright?” I murmured to Dietrich as we passed into the Great Hall, tucking _Sollertia Augurium_ out of sight.

Dietrich raised a brow. “Why do you ask?”

I nodded at the two, trailing behind the rest of us. “Their colors… are behaving a bit oddly.”

Dietrich narrowed his eyes, glancing back surreptitiously to observe. Obviously he didn’t have Mage Sight, but his discerning eye might help out. 

(My lovely boys didn’t make a big deal of the Mage Sight as much as I thought they would, but they did pay a bit more attention to how I observed people, since I had such a skill. Plus, they now knew why I was so good at tutoring spell practicals; I just watched the way their magic moved and made them adjust accordingly.)

“Julius is… withdrawn. More than usual.” Dietrich muttered.

I agreed quietly. “I didn’t speak much on the train, either, since I’ve finally got my shields straight and I can read my bloody book properly, but…”

My Second crinkled his brow a bit. “Even the _salaud_ is quieter.”

I glared at Dietrich. “That’s a bad word.”

He looked at me incredulously, sitting down beside me at the table. “You cannot speak French.”

“As if I haven’t picked up enough by now.” I sniffed, turning to the head table so Alby could say his pretty little speech and we could get on with dinner.

Meeting my boys on the train had been lovely, despite my newly re-acquired Occlumency skills. Harper and I had happily given everyone a hug, several times over in our excitement; Nate, being Nate (but not as snotty as usual), squirmed away from both of us, Jay accepted with a resigned-but-pleased smile (but not as happy as he normally was), Dietrich had stiffly allowed our affections (though his poker face was just a bit softer), and Lu had hugged back cheerfully. The train ride was all chatter, Harper going on about Egypt and his obviously smuggler Mum (“She’s a _merchant_ , Lyssie! She’s certified by the ICW and everything!”), Lu excited about more Quidditch and more flying with us, Dietrich explaining his own holidays in between Harper’s questions and probing.

I had never noticed until that train ride, but our colors were… well, they reminded me very much of my family’s. Not in shade or tone or whatever, of course not, but just the way… See, like, Dietrich’s deep, steel-tinted blues, the strings like silver, entwined with my grey strands, blue and indigo edges brushing together. And then Harper’s teals and turquoises intruded, mixing, zig-zagging through and knocking Nate’s black-scarlet and Lu’s corals into each other. And Jay’s moss green wrapped silkily around everyone else’s colors, curling as my indigo wrapped around it protectively. 

Our colors acted like mine did with my family. Always swirling together, bumping into each other, mixing silvery strings and black edges, but never breaking or shattering or losing their individual color. Harmonizing, not diluting.

Only… this is where I became suspicious.

Jay’s and Nate’s and Lu’s cores weren’t… right? Normal? They were Dark, of course, Dark as I was, but there was a certain… rigidness to them? Like silt clouding a normally clear stream, that sort of feeling; natural but not normal. Lu’s wasn’t as bad, and his coral and burnt-reds relaxed as the train went by, but Jay’s and Nate’s?

Yes, I was suspicious.

Dinner passed somewhat peacefully; as peaceful as it can be, with my crazy boys together and energetic from Winter Hols. I still kept an eye on Jay and Nate, resisting the urge to stare blatantly at them in concern. Normally, Jay’s colors were very quiet and liked to hide inside others, and Nate’s did the opposite and crept around everything, but they were… keeping to themselves, for some reason, and…

Well, I didn’t like it. The way they looked somewhat… brittle.

(Reminded me entirely too much of a certain vagabond in Knockturn Alley.)

Dinner finished up and then we returned to the common rooms where Snape gave an intimidating speech (of course he did), then our lovely Head Girl — I really ought to properly introduce Josephine and Percy, I might’ve had a _tiny_ crush on her but I would _love_ her as a sister — then our prefects, and then we were sent to bed. Or to do whatever the fuck we wanted, since Snape left that to the _potesta_ leaders’ discretion and Josephine and I didn’t care, as long as you didn’t embarrass the House.

“Lyssie! Can we please, please, please go to the Kitchens?” Harper begged as the House dispersed into unwinding from the train ride.

Perfect. “Sure, Harper. Dietrich — think Tilly’s up for hot chocolate right after the Welcome Feast?”

Tilly being Dietrich and my favorite House Elf. She always made sure we were accommodated when we snuck down there; I’m fairly certain she was the one who always made sure our _parvus potesta_ lounge area was spick and span, the snacks we liked kept in the end table drawers and such.

Dietrich inclined his head. “She would be ashamed if you thought such a small thing would tire her.”

“Small thing, sure,” Lu snorted.

“Are you teasing Tilly because she’s small, Lu? That’s rude!” Harper complained.

“Don’t point your wand at me, Harper, everything you magic explodes!”

“Does not!”

“Does too!”

“Does no- Dammit, I’m not a child, why do you always do this, Harper?”

Lu and Harper got into another playful spat — my god, they were hyper, hot chocolate would make them bounce off the bloody walls — and I thanked Merlin (and Harper) for the distraction; Nate was watching and conspicuously _not_ spurring the argument on like he normally liked to, and Jay was distractedly trying to reason with the both of them. I looked to Dietrich.

“Stall the louder two for me, won’t you?” I asked softly.

It was a testament to his trust in me as both a friend and leader that he only asked, “How long?”

“Half an hour.”

Dietrich blinked at our quieter duo. “Are you sure? Both of them?”

Shit, that was true. Wouldn’t it be better if I did a one-on-one talk with them? I was trying to address them as individuals. And, really, they might be more open with me alone than with someone else there, too. Jay, at least, would. Who knew with Nate? The kid did whatever he wanted, and never had to pay the consequences. Except when he fucked with Dietrich and my circle, but that’s water under the bridge.

But yes, maybe I should speak to Nate first. I could talk to Jay tomorrow, while I was doing his braid, after he got a bit of rest.

(How Dietrich and I communicated entire paragraphs in vague sentences was beyond me.)

I nodded. “I’ll check on Nate.”

“Are you finally booting him?” Dietrich asked.

I… honestly couldn’t tell if he was hopeful or not. Dietrich’s poker face + every conversation he and Nate had ever had made me wonder.

“He’s trustworthy.”

“He’s a liar.” Dietrich intoned dully.

“We’re all liars. Slytherin.” I retorted.

“I am not a fool.” he hissed suddenly, grey eyes flashing, “Tell me he does not feel like _him._ The boy in that _filthy book.”_

I stiffened.

Nate was like… Tom?

He… Maybe. Maybe he was. They both had that sneaking, sly look about them. Handsome, dark-haired, tall, wiry… Good Slytherins. There was a bit of honey in their voices, too, and a bit of poison. Good speakers, excellent arguers. Proud, very proud. Somewhat spiteful, very opinionated, but… amusing. Fun to listen to, to snark with, to play games with. Challenging.

He was. Mother of fuck, he was. And I didn’t realize until Dietrich pointed it out, because Dietrich hated Tom, but I loved that stupid fuck. Filia, but yeah.

Fuck me.

I looked away. “You still don’t trust him?” I asked.

Dietrich took a bit to reply. I was a bit… afraid, I guess. If Dietrich _still_ didn’t trust Nate — because arguing and snapping at each other like cats and dogs was _not_ the same as the knife-edge tension that they all used to have between them — then… I mean. I had promised them, I’d promised _all of them_ , that the moment they wanted him out, then he was gone. The moment they seriously believed they could _not_ take his presence, I would remove him. I promised them, and I intended to keep this promise, because they were mine and even if I considered Nate-

No, no. I shouldn’t think about that. I got so easily attached, this was why I put my trust in my boys to tell me when to hold back or stop when I got too far. I’d gone too far with Tom Riddle. I didn’t want to make that mistake with Nathaniel Wilkes. I didn’t want to put my boys in danger because I didn’t know how to stop getting so damn attached.

_Dietrich’s pale face — shallow rasps, pale skin, no more snarls on the enemy’s face. But that’s not what she wanted, she knelt and touched at his pulse points desperately — “Because I was weak?” “No, because I was.” — Chamber of Secrets, Slytherins face set into the stone and a basilisk sleeping in his throat, a deadly silver tongue. — “It has happened,” she said gravely, “Students have been taken by the monster. Right into the Chamber itself.”_

_Stop._

A hand on my shoulder.

I looked up at Dietrich. His face was stone, but he sighed.

“ _Les choses que je fais pour toi,_ Lys,” muttered my best mate, shaking his head. “ _Je méprise ce foutu garçon, mais pour toi… Il est déjà l'un des tiens, je le sais.”_

I frowned at Dietrich. “Stop doing that. You _know_ I can’t understand you. And I know you love it, because you refuse to teach me.”

Dietrich rolled his eyes, just a little. “Whatever.” He paused, glancing at Nate. “He said to me, once, Nathaniel… He said, ‘You have a face like stone, Bastion. Is your heart the same, too? Can you feel anything?’”

I clenched my jaw, about to call the entire thing off-

Dietrich interrupted me with a shake of his head. “I hate when people say that. My expression does not reflect my feelings. _Meine Mutter_ made sure of it. I am proud of this mask, even if I cannot take it off.” He snorted softly, and his bitter words didn’t match the peacefulness of his eyes. “And if I have to have a stone heart to balance your bleeding one, I will. And I will be proud of that, too, my friend.”

My jaw unclenched, relaxing into a near-gape. I blinked rapidly at Dietrich, feeling warm. 

He raised a brow. There was a very _Do I have to spell it out for you?_ look to him. “I do not like him. But I suppose I trust him… to an extent.”

(And if Dietrich — the most paranoid, the most antagonistic, the most mistrustful of us all — gave his blessings to Nate’s place in our circle… well, no one else would disagree. As it was, Harper and Lu and Jay turned expectantly to Nate as they did to Dietrich.)

Dietrich turned on his heel, marching the opposite direction and grabbing Lu’s collar and Jay’s braid in the passing. They protested, Lu whining and Harper following after them, but Dietrich didn’t even turn to address them. He just walked with them in tow, three of them being pulled at awkward angles and protesting — or not protesting, in Jay’s case — as he led them away from the boys’ dormitory we’d been standing in front of. I grinned at the sight.

Nate made to follow, raising a brow at their antics, but stopped — flinched? — when I laid a hand on his arm. He glanced at me, then his eyes narrowed behind his glasses.

He smirked a little, though that was his default expression, the self-assured git. “Is this the part where you confess?” he asked.

“This is the part where I ask if you’re okay.” I said, tugging on him — he flinched again, didn’t he? — and guiding him to his room, which he shared with Jay, Dietrich, and Lu. The common room was too public for a heart-to-heart.

Nate tilted his head to one side. “I’m rather well, thank you, Guinevere. Taking me into a bedroom though, how scandalous. What would your brothers say?”

I rolled my eyes. “You’ve got a demented way of flirting, Nate.”

“And you don’t flirt at all. Skipping right ahead, are we?”

“Ergh, that’s disgusting, we’re _twelve_ for Merlin’s sake.”

“ _I’m_ thirteen. And _you’re_ the one dragging me into a bedroom-”

“Dietrich’s right, there’s something disturbing about you.” I snorted.

No witty comeback came, though. I blinked, turning to him once we entered the room and the door was shut and warded lightly. He was stone-faced, as expressionless as Dietrich on his best days, and I frowned. A read into his colors showed me that the odd brittleness was still there, but the clouds of magic were stilling, freezing in place, somewhat like… shock? Surprise? Horror?

Horror?

“What’s wrong?” I asked, alarmed.

“‘Dietrich’s right,’ you said… So you’re finally doing it.” he said softly.

“What?”

Nate chuckled a little. “Getting rid of the one loose end.” he said, gesturing to himself. “I suppose it was a long shot, trying to ingratiate myself into your first circle.”

I swallowed. Not because of how casually he said that, but because of his colors. They were shrinking in on themselves. He was hurt. And that it was showing in his damn _magical fucking core_ meant that he was _really_ hurt. Things didn’t show there unless… Well, the colors normally behaved according to your mental state, the state of your heart; no surface irritation, no laughter at a joke, no crying at the movies or anything. Things that affected you personally.

Ah. So he was one of _those._ People who just couldn’t wear their hearts on their sleeves. Like Dietrich, who blocked everything out with stoicism. Like Jay, who wore that gentle smile even if he was stressed. They couldn’t express things; they didn’t know how, they were too scared to.

Well, then.

“I suppose it’ll be slow? Ease me out of the first circle. To save face, yours and mine. Of course, I’ll be waiting for when you fall. I know more about the second circle than you do, having put it together, so maybe one day when you’re dethroned just as pathetically as Malfoy, I’ll-”

“I wasn’t giving you the boot.”

Nate’s jaw snapped closed. There was that look in his eyes, the one where he was trying to very rapidly calculate his way out of the current issue. “As a Slytherin, of course, I would always be waiting for you to slip up, and the fact that your first circle doesn’t think the same is odd, and I’ve remarked on how nauseating it is before-”

“You really don’t have to make excuses.” I interrupted, again, lightly.

He twitched. I understood; in his eyes, he’d just made a really big faux pas, threatening me when I hadn’t even planned on dropping him. He just made himself untrustworthy. Dangerous.

But to me? I saw a kid who was hurt, and who would have lashed out in it. Jesus fuck, he was _exactly_ like Tom Riddle. Before all the craziness, that is. Like if Tom Riddle weren’t as fatalistic and cheerful. Like if he’d continued on without us, without someone that dared to keep him in check, Nate could have become him; just without that dangerous, Dark Lord _charisma_ , because Nate was much too amused with messing with people and didn’t care enough about them to hide it away from public eye.

I sat down on Lu’s trunk. “I just wanted to ask if you were okay.” I said.

Mm-hm, Tom definitely wouldn’t have let himself look that stupefied. “What?”

I smiled. “You were quiet at dinner. Didn’t piss anyone off as much as you usually do, which was weird to see. We’ve all gotten used to you riling us up. And when I grabbed you, you… winced. Are you alright, Nate?”

He stood still. Didn’t move at all. For Nathaniel Wilkes, who loved poking at things and prodding at things and all that, to be shocked into complete stillness… Well, it was weird. And unsettling. 

So when I dragged him over to sit beside me, it made me feel better. Though it seemed it only made Nate more nervous. Still, though. I liked to have me and mine tucked close, especially if I thought they were upset, somehow.

Dietrich had given me permission and everything, after all.

“Listen, Nate,” I told him gently, “You’re first circle. Got it? You’re first circle. You’re one of me and mine. I’m not going to boot you out. I trust Dietrich with my life — you know, like a horrible Slytherin — but I trust you, too. You didn’t have to help us out. And more importantly, you didn’t have to stay. Don’t think I didn’t see you scare away those ‘Claws that were bullying Harper and Lu last term. Or those Gryffs who were teasing Jay.”

Nate blinked. “But there was no one around. I-”

The beauty of Sight, of course. “I’ve got a spy network all my own, you know. It’s not nearly as reliable as yours or Dietrich’s, but I have it. Sometimes it picks up things like that. I usually don’t say anything about it.”

“…You’re honestly the worst Slytherin I’ve ever met.”

I raised a brow.

Nate snorted, looking away, hands resting on the edge of our shared seat. “Sure, you put down idiots like Malfoy and the rest easily. And you’ve got a clever thing going with Head Girl Zabini. But you treat your allies like… like they’re all that matters. I don’t understand.”

“Close. Allies are treated well, the second circle and the like, but mine? My first circle, my brothers, my parents, my sister, Luna, Harry… yeah, they’re all that matters.”

He looked at me, then. Studying. “You really mean it, don’t you?”

“You’re the one that’s good at picking apart liars.” I said, shrugging.

Nate grinned. “Fine. I can’t believe I got myself caught up in your insanity.”

I snorted. “Don’t change the subject now, Nate. Are you okay?”

He smiled a little. Oh. I’d never seen that before: fondness. There was always glinting amusement and mischief and whatnot, but I’d never seen that sort of warmth in this one. It made him a lot… softer, somehow. Reminded me that he was just a kid on the verge of teenagerhood, not a Death Eater lying in wait.

(Not a boy who murdered a schoolgirl in an effort to live forever.)

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I am, Guinevere.”

“Lys.” I corrected.

His smile widened. It started to turn back into that creepy smirk, of course. 

“Lys.” he repeated.

 

**…**

 

“Lys, where are you going after classes? We were going to work on our Patronuses, were we not, Lys?” Nate drawled, looking especially amused at how twitchy Dietrich and Lu were getting. He turned to them. “Lys likes to wander around, doesn’t she? Must be because of how many of Lys’ family members are scattered about. Such a Lys-like thing to do, checking on anyone who calls her Lys…”

Lu was grinding his teeth.

Harper and Jay, partnered up, were blissfully ignorant. Or willfully. Both. They were concentrating on the review Flitwick was trying to give us. Re-learning first term spells like _Diffindo_ and _Arresto Momentum_ was just… well, I knew most of the curriculum _wandless_ , so obviously the boys I tutored were rather good at it. Harper was attempting to get an overpowered _Diffindo_ to sever things through a chain of explosions, incidentally. Jay had smartly hidden his braid.

Dietrich and Lu sat next to each other, though Dietrich was my partner and Lu was Nate’s.

“I say, Lys, how did you derive Lys from your name? Guinevere, that is, not Lys. And how did it, your name, Lys, become a rite of passage, Lys?” Nate went on.

Dietrich’s wand motion for _Engorgio_ jerked to the left, the statues we were practicing Charms on growing bulbously huge arms but not much anything else. I snorted at the attempt, and Nate chuckled a little.

“Lys would never make that mistake, Dietrich, or don’t you know our Lys? Even when Lys was a first year, such good marks in Charms. Lys, say, would-”

“THAT’S IT!” roared Lu, standing up and startling all the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs in the room. He jabbed his finger at Nate, who was taking this all in with glinting, dark eyes. “IF I HEAR YOU SAY LYSSIE’S NAME AGAIN, I’LL BLOODY KILL YOU, NATE!”

Professor Flitwick squeaked. “Mr. Vaisey! Sit down! Language, too! Ten points from Slytherin!”

Nate blinked innocently at Lu. “But Lys gave me permission-”

“YOU’RE DEAD!”

“What are you going to- _PROTEGO!”_

“YOU _COWARD,_ NATE! Let me just punch you a little!”

“Get away from me, Lucas!”

“Twenty points from Slytherin!”

Harper was laughing uproariously. “Get him, Lu! Avenge my ears!”

Dietrich had an evil glint in his eyes, nodding at Lu’s attempts to bodily bash his way through a Shield Charm so he could strangle Nate with his bare hands. Jay and I glanced at each other, slightly in the same boat: stunned. Was this actually happening in the middle of Charms class on the fourth day of the new term?

Nate was the type to take things he liked and play with them until he got bored, and then proceed to break them into pieces just so he could put them back together again in the most interesting and convoluted way possible. AKA, Nate got permission to call me Lys — the name only me and mine called me by — and decided that it would be extremely amusing to annoy everyone else with his privilege. Or, at least, the more hotheaded of us; contrary to Dietrich’s poker face, the kid got annoyed pretty easily.

Or was that just a Nate thing? Cats and dogs, like I said before.

“DETENTION, MR. VAISEY, MR. WILKES!”

“I didn’t do anything-”

“He deserves it-”

I sighed. Show was over, I think. “Take your detentions with grace, if you please.”

Nate and Lu knew a _parvus potesta_ order when they heard one. They both straightened, nodding — sulkily, in Lu’s case.

“Fine, Lyssie,” sighed Lu.

“If I must-” Nate smirked at Lu. “-Lys.” he finished.

Lu twitched again.

I narrowed my eyes. If we lost anymore points today, _with me in the class_ , the fourth day of term, Josephine would _kill_ me. And worse than that, I’d disappoint her, and it was a horrible fucking feeling, disappointing someone I liked and looked up to. That, and Snape would devour my soul.

Wait, that made him sound like a dementor-fuck. Never mind. Snape would carve up my insides or something equally disturbing.

“And what do we say when we’ve inconvenienced our professors, children?” I said lightly, though I gave them both pointed glances.

Lu and Nate grimaced.

“Sorry, Professor,” murmured Lu, embarrassed.

Nate followed, a bit less sheepish but probably smarting in the pride a bit more. “Apologies, Professor Flitwick.”

The Hufflepuffs snickered. I didn’t move, but my eyes slid to glare at them coolly. It gratified me that they shut up immediately, though I did flare my magic a little — oh, how it liked that, my lovely Dark colors — to make sure they knew how I wouldn’t take their malicious laughter. If only for the boys’ sake. But also mine, because I was a Slytherin and we did _not_ like to be laughed at. Petty and hypocritical, yes, because I would undoubtedly laugh at people _I_ didn’t like if they were forced to bow their heads to a professor, but eh.

Sebastian Flint, sitting behind us, muttered to his partner in crime, Edwin Rosier, “Merlin. Four days in and the queen’s flexing her claws already.”

I smiled to myself as Rosier replied quietly, “Can’t deny that it’s nice to have Weasley on our side, Seb. ‘Puffs shut up from just a glare, you know?”

 

**…**

 

To answer Nate’s question, which was nearly buried with all the stupid things he said to get a rise out of the rest of us, I showed my boys the little letter I’d received yesterday evening:

 

* * *

 

Lys,

 

Didn’t see you yesterday or the day before, so I had to send Hedwig. You still up for Patronus lessons with me and Lupin? The first one’s going to be tomorrow night, sometime after dinner. Lupin said he can write us notes if we stay past curfew.

Let me know.

 

Harry

 

* * *

 

Hedwig is a _gorgeous_ owl, by the way. Snooty, yes, but very beautiful. I loved petting owls when they permitted it — Hermes was a little _git_ and hated my pets, Errol was usually too dead or busy to sit still while I spoiled him, unfortunately, and my boys’ owls preferred quick deliveries and business — and Hedwig had been quite receptive to my awed attentions. Last life, I had a plushy of her and I went to bed with it a lot. Y’know, like a mature eighteen-year-old.

Anyways. Putting aside finally meeting that lovely owl, Harry’s letter was a bit… clipped? Not that I expected pages of text, especially considering we’d be seeing each other for the Patronus lessons, but I hadn’t gotten a letter from him the entire Hols — Ron sent letters home — and knowing Harry, such a down-to-business letter was unlike him.

I was slightly concerned as I waved my boys goodbye, heading out of the common room to meet Harry near the Defense classroom. (They’d hold court fine by themselves; Dietrich was a magnificent Second, after all.) Maybe Harry didn’t want me to come along? Come to think of it, that might be the case, because Lupin _is_ his quasi-godfather… Though Harry shouldn’t know that. Did Ron do something over the Hols?

What happened over the Hols? I frowned to myself, stopping.

_I could check,_ I thought absently. After all, my Occlumency barriers weren’t blocking and absorbing visions as much as before; and a bout of meditation might do me good anyways. My Sight was a bit upset with me, though, probably because I’d neglected the barriers for so long, but perhaps it would cooperate; not enough to give me the complete picture, as many people _thought_ Clairvoyants could do, but enough to get hints?

With that, I let my feet take me to the meeting point while I consulted my private, shitty information network in my head.

_Gleaming handle and polished wood, pointed bristled, crinkling paper — wide green eyes — Ron was nearly twitching, voice croaky. “I don’t believe it…” — hands, rough and calloused, carving wood from an old tree, murmuring voice, old and sighing magic singing as he worked. Hewn by hand it was better, his magic bled into the broom._

_“-can’t believe it. Who-?” he murmured, stunned at it, unable to see the light magics still mingling in the core — rough hands — wind whipping around his face, clear blue sky and — “It’s the best broom there is, Hermione.” Ron sighed, then he grinned. “And Harry’s got it. Safest broom to take someone up with, you know? Maybe you’d like flying on a broom that isn’t rubbish!”_

_McGonagall raised a brow, Hermione looked guilty but determined. “What if… what if it was sent by Sirius Black, Professor?”_

_Stop._

Right, right, the Firebolt. That was taken away, though, wasn’t it? For a bit. I frowned, resisting the urge to blink the Sight from my eyes. That can’t be why Harry’s upset; it’s just a _broom._ No, no- I can’t say that, honestly, I live with Quidditch nuts, brooms to Quidditch nuts are like what cars are to suburban-living Muggles: precious babies.

Still, though. I might as well practice with my Clairvoyance, maybe make it happy so I could figure out what the hell was going on.

_Snow drifting down gently, grey sky and black pine, castle standing in the background — dry and dusty and dark, quiet steps and a silvery cloak draped over his shoulders, heart beating in excitement. Harry ran down the tunnel, snuck out the trapdoor — “What should we get for him? S’not like I have a whole lot of Galleons here, so… candy?” Ron said, shrugging. Hermione nodded, “Harry doesn’t have a lot of experience with wizard sweets, I don’t think.” “Neither do you, yeah? So? Shall we?” — bright and crowded and the smell of sugar and chocolate — “Ugh, no, Harry won’t want one of those, they’re for vampires, I expect-”_

_Stop._

_Flash of green light, a scream, a child wailing-_

_Stop._

_“I’m not going to be the Secret-Keeper? You_ wound _me, Prongsie.” — exaggerated pout, a playful shove. Lily Potter rolled her eyes — “Think about it, you prat. Everyone knows it’s Sirius and James, Padfoot and Prongs… When they can’t find Lily-flower and me, who’re they going to turn to?” — motorcycle roaring in the night, thrumming underneath him, hand cradling the baby. Fat globs of tears rolled down his cheeks, his beard. “I’m sorry, ‘lil Harry, I’m sorry-”_

_Stop._

_“Never saw one without the other, did you? The number of times I had them in here—ooh, they used to make me laugh. Quite the double act, Sirius Black and James Potter!” laughed the woman. McGonagall shook her head — running through the hallways, four figures darting in between the crowd or running them over. “Hurry up, Wormtail, or she’ll catch us! Might eat you, eh? Cats and rats, yeah?” “Stop talking about it! She terrified me already!” — “You’d have thought Black and Potter were brothers! Inseparable!”_

_Stop._

Well, fuck my life. Harry found out about Black’s supposed betrayal, didn’t he? Before I even left, though after we’d said goodbye already. No wonder there were no letters from my favorite Potter. Not that I’d blame him, he was at that angsty age _and_ his life story was absolute shit, my poor friend.

By the time I made it to the Defense classroom, I was well and out of my Clairvoyance — quietly celebrating in my head that my visions weren’t as in your face, weren’t as floody, as they’d been since the school year began — and I was more than a little excited to get tips from a real Patronus caster. While I _had_ asked Alby to demonstrate a Patronus for me real quick last term, it’d be different with a bit of supervision. And with Harry — I loved my boys, but Harper so often got jittery and Lu and Dietrich got frustrated, plus Nate didn’t try and Jay tried too hard, it got pretty chaotic. Harry would be a nice change of pace.

And there he was, waiting for me, leaning against the wall. I beamed when I saw him.

“Harry!”

He looked up, brightening a little. “Lys.” He rubbed the back of his head, looking a bit sheepish. “Sorry I didn’t say this in the note, but welcome back. Had a nice holiday?”

“Yeah, it was nice being back home. Did you like your present?”

“Oh, er, right. I never wrote you back after you sent it- I’m sorry about that, Lys. It was a… strange holiday for me. Thank you, of course! I think I’m getting the hang of your meditation exercises; I used them a lot to, er, calm down.”

I patted his shoulder fondly. “Better than me. The dementors really pissed on my Occlumency barriers, so meditation is a bit difficult to get into and I’ve been spoiled so far, so I just don’t do it.”

Harry shrugged. “Well, that’s what we’re here for. Shall we?”

“Sure. …But you’re alright, right? First Nate, then Jay, now you… Winter Hols seem to either make people as hyper as Lu and Harper were, or they suck the life out of them.”

“What happened to Wilkes and Rookwood?”

“Nate’s not going to tell, apparently, but he feels much better. He’s one of mine, now, you know? Calls me Lys and everything. Too much, actually, remind me to tell you about Charms class today. And Jay… well, apparently he’s got a marriage contract set up now, to an American witch, and it stresses him out.”

Harry looked mystified. “Marriage contracts?”

“Yup. Purebloods, you know? Apparently they get engaged at twelve or thirteen, and- Wait. Don’t distract me, prat! You’re alright, aren’t you? Nothing like a surprise marriage contract or whatever the hell goes on in Nate’s house happened, did it?”

He hesitated a little. “Something like it. I just… I mean…”

Harry glanced at the door to the Defense classroom, which would lead into Lupin’s office. We might be a bit late. But at the same time, Harry was the one who listened to me when I was messed up because of Tom, so I’d be damned if I didn’t return the favor.

“I have Herbology tomorrow, just before lunch. I might accidentally stab myself with a spade or something.” I said casually, folding my arms.

Harry, bless his damn soul, caught on quickly. “Transfiguration. Ron’s wand might slip, miss the cushion, hit me.”

We grinned at each other.

But then he frowned, back to timid, hesitating Harry. “Erm… Are you sure, though, Lys? It’s not a big deal, really-”

I held up a hand. “Ron’s fault aim or not, I’m probably going to stab my hand with some pointy plant or other tomorrow. And you’re my Hospital Wing mate, so you’ve got to be there. And I very vividly remember someone listening to my drivel about a stupid book from last year, so obviously it’d be beyond prattish if I didn’t listen to that same friend’s strange holiday, yeah?”

Harry smiled warmly. “What if you’re not working with tools or spiky plants?”

I laughed. “Then I’ll have Harper cast something. Now. Patronuses. Yeah?”

“Yeah… Thanks, Lyssie.”

“I think you’re the one who invited _me_ along, Potter, so that’s my line. C’mon, let’s go see how much vapor and frustration we can work up.”

 

**…**

 

To be honest, I hadn’t paid much attention to Lupin at all this year. He was an effective teacher, but I was already ahead in all my classes, and I usually used class time to do paperwork. (Got very good at glamours, us firsties. Had to pretend to be taking notes and such.) He was mild-mannered and gentle-eyed, light scars running all over his sickly skin and dipping underneath his raggedy clothing. Kind, is what I would say about him. Kind and thoughtful and…

Well, he reminded me of Jay, actually. Huh.

“I have Mage Sight,” I muttered to myself, gritting my teeth, “I know the pattern my magic should be going through, I can _see_ it. But why won’t it _do_ it?”

Lupin looked sympathetically between Harry and I, both of us tired with so much magical expenditure and frustrated as hell. The _fucking boggart-dementor_ pissed me the hell off. It wasn’t _nearly_ as horrible as the real ones, and I think both Harry and I could feel it — magical sensitivity and whatnot — but it still sent us into cold sweat and had our hands trembling, almost too much to actually cast spells. Harry had looked on the verge of collapse the first few times, but I think he was slowly growing _used_ to the damn thing.

“You are a naturally Dark witch, Miss Weasley,” Lupin explained gently, “The makeup and intent of this spell is Light, with a _touch_ of Grey, perhaps, and your magic knows this. It resists.”

“This is the only way to fight off dementors, though, isn’t it?” Harry asked, “So Dark-allegiance witches and wizards have it worse off, with dementors?”

Lupin shook his head. “This is the safest and easiest way to _ward off_ dementors, actually.”

I narrowed my eyes. “There’s a more dangerous way? A Dark spell, then.”

“Fiendfyre,” replied the professor with a grave nod, “The only known way to actually _kill_ a dementor; Fiendfyre consumed everything, anywhere. But I like to think no professor at Hogwarts would dare teach their students such a spell. It’s one of the Darker, more Maddening ones.”

I swallowed. I’d Seen Fiendfyre before. It used to be called demon fire, and myth said that its first caster was a cambion who was taught the spell by their demon parent. Cities had been consumed by Fiendfyre before; _oceans_ used to burn, because the stuff didn’t feed off oxygen, it fed off _magic._ And what gave off magic, even just a little? _Everything._

“Well, looks like I’m sticking to this, then.” I sighed, “Though I won’t be able to come every session, Professor, sorry to say. _Parvus_ business and whatnot.”

Try as he might, Lupin looked pleased at that. Ha. I knew it, these lessons were so he could spend time with Harry. I couldn’t even be offended, really, because Harry deserved any sort of connection to his parents that he could get ahold of, even unknowingly.

“Alright, ready?” Harry asked, wiping his face tiredly.

(We had to do the Patronus together, since it was Harry’s boggart, not mine. I didn’t even want to see what mine was, and I was glad my year didn’t have the boggart lesson. I don’t think anyone would like to see what sorts of horrors were in my head.)

I nodded my assent. “If you are, Potter.”

He smiled grimly. “Right, then.” Lupin stepped towards the trunk the fucking thing was rattling inside of. Harry turned to me with a more amused smile. “We go at this enough, I might be so exhausted tomorrow, I won’t need Ron to send me to the Wing.”

I snorted. “Might be better, anyways. Ron’s got a nice, new wand, but it still does _weird shit_ when he isn’t thinking. I said he was a less explosive Harper, magic-wise. Never seen him more offended, honestly.”

Harry and I stood shoulder to shoulder. He was nearly a half-head taller than me. Our wands were ready.

“Alright, you two. Remember — circular wand movement, but not too twisty.” Lupin advised.

“I cannot _wait_ until I get this down enough not to need the damn movement.” I muttered.

“Is that a thing?” Harry asked.

“Oh, Merlin, yes. Magic memorizes the patterns, you know? Anyways.”

Lupin unlatched the trunk, and it burst open. Harry stepped forward just as Lupin jumped back, the boggart focused on him, and the feeling of ice and horror slid down my spine and had goosebumps prickle across my skin. I clenched my jaw, pouring magic into my Occlumency barriers — they held up well, thank you cambion — and the black, tattered cloak and scabby, long fingers of a dementor hovered before us. It reached for us.

“ _Expecto Patronum!”_ we yelled.

(It didn’t take, that time. Or the time after that. And, really, I didn’t expect it too. But we _were_ exhausted after Lupin finally shut us down, and I was hopeful that I could speak to Harry tomorrow without any stabbing or Harper’s awry magic at all. That, and a nap.)


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> GODDAMMIT. I didn't make it... I'm sorry, fellas, I was hoping to get this in before midnight and I guess I failed...
> 
> Which brings me to my next, unfortunate announcement: due to rising pressures of real life, and evidenced by how I failed to update when I said I would, I am going to slow down the updates considerably. Once every other week *at the most*. DX I'm sorry, guys. I promise that I'll try to catch up, but I'm not fast enough to refill my backlog the way it'd been in the beginning.
> 
> So, yeah. Sorry about that. And sorry about this, too. It's kinda cliff-hanger-ish. :( I still love you all for bookmarking and commenting, though, and I feel bad about letting y'all down, but just know I really appreciate how cool everyone is with the last skipped week and stuff. :) See you guys next time!

 

**…**

 

“I really do love that you’re Head Boy, you know, Perce.”

My brother gave me an entirely unimpressed look. “You love that my position gives you power in Slytherin.”

I gasped. “How could you say such a thing, Percy?”

He gave me a wry smile. “Because you just had me give those fifth-years that were teasing your friends three nights of detention. Oh, and those Ravenclaws who were harassing Luna last week. And somehow I was roped into giving Harry Potter a hallway pass two weeks ago, so he could safely sneak into the Hospital Wing where you had, apparently, been resting after a slight asthmatic attack in Herbology.”

I beamed at Percy, trotting alongside him. It was like the parting of the red sea, students standing back and letting us through; after seeing Percy yell the shit out of a bunch of his own House’s fifth-years, because I may or may not have provoked them (one of them insulted Jay and Lu last week, nearly tripped both of them down the moving staircases; only Lu’s Quidditch-honed reflexes saved them a trip to Madam Pomfrey, and needless to say, when they told me later I was _pissed)._ One of them _may_ have been ready to curse me out, another one making a grab for my hair after I said something quite rude about his own…

Well. See, Percy was protective of his siblings, yeah? When we weren’t driving him up the wall.

“It’s not like I don’t make it up for you,” I retorted, grinning at him. “Plus, Josephine’s been really grateful that you’re dealing out punishments for our sake. Slytherin’s, that is.”

Percy’s face darkened a little, and the crowd thinned enough that we wouldn’t have to care about eavesdroppers. “Because of how much your House is _targeted?”_ he nearly hissed, “I had no idea, before you came to Hogwarts, that students thought it was _alright_ to _push a child down the staircases_ if that child was a _Slytherin._ ”

I blinked in surprise. “I didn’t know that got around.”

He glared, pushing his glasses up smartly. “I don’t just blindly trust that the students you hiss at deserve it just because you’re my little sister, you know. I love you very much, Lyssie, but as Head Boy, I do try to be responsible for everyone under me. Which means knowing things.”

“…You would’ve been a magnificent _potesta_ leader.”

Percy looked away. “I do believe Head Girl Zabini said much the same.”

I squinted at him. Then I grinned, tugging on his sleeve. “Are you blushing? You are-!”

“Hush, Lyssie!”

I laughed at him. “Well, well. I always knew you were the most Slytherin of my brothers. How did you find out?”

Percy side-eyed me. “The portraits are quite forthcoming, since they seem to like you, Bastion, and Harper, and I _am_ your favorite brother.”

I gasped again. “You’re _using_ my spy network? I don’t know whether to be insulted or proud!”

He shoved at my shoulder playfully, and I bumped into him ‘clumsily’ and I really should be more worried for our reputations as Head Boy and _parvus potesta_ , two of us horsing around like elementary schoolers. Our little walk was taking us vaguely in the direction of the Owlery, where I think Percy was going to mail the collective sibling letter to our parents before I’d flagged him down for some nice, Slytherin-style, toddler-level revenge. At some point I’d snatched the letter up and started reading over it, grinning at Percy’s absolutely beautiful handwriting detailing Fred and George’s latest prank — they’d demanded he include it, because they wanted Mum and Dad to know how harmless and brilliant it was so as to cut down on nagging — and how Ginny was doing in classes.

I’d finished off the ‘ _I’d sign this with all our names but it was hard enough tracking all of them down to ask what they wanted in the letter, so I’m afraid this is the best we can offer, Father, Mother. All my love, Percy.’_ and had been about to offer to send a _Nuntiam_ to our errant siblings to _make_ them sign it, but we heard a CLANG! in the Owlery, a few yards ahead, and jumped at the noise of it.

Percy and I glanced at each other, then increased our pace. There shouldn’t be anything metal or very heavy in the Owlery besides the beams the owls liked resting on, and one of _those_ falling would be impossible — Hogwarts wouldn’t let herself go like that, honestly — so what was that noise? I was about to stomp right in, intent on finding out what sort of idiot managed to piss off an owl enough to have them drop one of their water dishes or something on them, but…

My brother held out his hand. I paused instantly, glancing at his intent expression, then turned to the shut door again, narrowing my eyes. He’s stopped me because there were voices, and they’d grown louder as we approached, but they were still quiet.

It was Percy’s inner Slytherin, I’m sure, that smelled a secret.

“-teach… this time… such an annoyance… I-”

“-want her here… both of them-”

“Should we-?”

“-ah, yeah, it’s just… not like-”

“-bothersome! Why my father ordered… befriend the Zabini girl-!”

“-done with this, yeah? Year’s almost done, I’m tired of following a damn _girl_ , and I’m sure once we chaps take Zabini down, someone’ll do something about Weasley.”

“Bloodtraitor whore!”

“And Zabini’s no better-”

I glanced over at Percy. His hands were clenched, knuckles pale and trembling. Yeah, they insulted me one more time, I think he might lose it…

“-matriarchal family in Italy, but it’s patriarchy here. Zabini doesn’t seem to realize that, though, does she? Well, we’ll show _her-“_

Or Josephine.

I snatched Percy’s arm, right before he rushed in to curse the ever-loving shit out of whoever was in there. He was strong enough and I was weak enough that it shouldn’t have mattered, but he stopped, swung around to face me with his face red and teeth gritted. I tightened my grip on his wrist gently, shaking my head, eyes sharp.

_Not like this,_ I mouthed.

Percy snapped his gaze back at the door. They were insulting Josephine again. He glanced at me, eyes narrowed and pointed. I read that as something along the lines of, _I know you have the Weasley temper, Lyssie. Why not?_

I tugged on his wrist, waiting until he followed my gentle guidance. I scooted us right up against the opposite wall, and then pointed my wand at our feet, drawing a lopsided circle around us and and muttering the incantation, “ _Muffliato.”_

My left hand’s fingers twitched to flick my Mage Sight on and watch the magic take, a little more clumsily than Snape’s had, but it spiraled into a thinly-woven barrier that was nearly translucent to my weak Sight, and I smiled grimly. Flicking the Sight back off, I looked at Percy.

“It’s better if we can catch them, Percy, and I report the names to Josephine to do with them what she will,” I explained quietly, “They don’t sound my age, so they’re probably more her responsibility than mine, ‘specially if they’re Slytherins.”

Percy glared at the door. “They shouldn’t be talking about you like that. Or Zabini.”

“They’re snubbed purebloods, probably. And what’s the worst thing you can do to an uppity pureblood? Piss on their pride. Josephine and I have been doing just that, taking the _potestas_ and making Slytherin so solid that the old bullying we’re supposedly used to just… doesn’t take.”

“Shouldn’t they be pleased, then?”

I gave him a look. “And if they’re not Slytherins?”

Percy flushed a little. “Ah, right. Right. So… you want to find out who they are?”

“Mm. I can cast a strong Notice-Me-Not, though I have to practically glue myself to your side for it to take both of us. Can’t have us forgetting about each other. I’ll get their faces, pull up the memories through Occlumency if I need to. Their grievance is mainly directed at Josephine, so I’ll defer to her. She’s been my _potesta_ and Slytherin mentor, you know?” Then I grinned. “Plus, she’ll owe me one.”

He gave me a tired look. “Should’ve known you’d use this to your advantage.”

“If I didn’t, Josephine would be _much_ more insulted, I assure you. _Potesta_ mentor, remember? Now hold still.”

I verily glomped my brother, wrapping myself in his robes and arms like a blanket, and concentrating a fair portion of my indigo into a Notice-Me-Not. For a moment, as soon as the silver-blue threads snapped into place, I wondered what the bloody hell I was cloaked in ( _These aren’t my robes, why are the sleeves so big, what the hell-?)_ but I snapped out of it when Percy poked my cheek hesitantly, as if he was checking I was there. He probably was, I poured a bit much into it. I twisted my face around to grin sheepishly at him, and we waited.

“Does the sound spell you used prevent them from hearing us?” the blank wal- _Percy_ asked.

I frowned. “From what I remember, it makes the conversation somehow indistinguishable and quieter.”

“So not completely.”

“Nope.”

“ _Silencio.”_

We waited for a while, narrowing our eyes at the doors. Eventually, five teenagers thundered out, huffing insults and snickering amongst themselves, one of them covered in feathers and grimacing at the sight. Two ‘Claws, a ‘Puff, and two Slytherins. I immediately pinpointed Peregrine Derrick, with his handsome looks and straight-backed posture, but everyone else was only vaguely familiar.

“She’s _your_ sister-in-law, Perry. Well, soon to be, anyways.”

“Yes, meaning _I_ didn’t choose to be related to the bitch. Hopefully father can _order_ her to give me the _magnus potesta_ so I can finally put us to rights.” Derrick muttered, “Only _women_ would make Slytherin like this, all of us falling over ourselves to cater to one another. Who cares if the _parvus_ is targeted? Who cares if you nearly pushed some brats down the stairs? That means they’re weak, and they’d come flocking to the _magnus_ for protection. All the better for us. But no, the stupid whore wants to put a _bloodtraitor_ bitch into position.”

One of the Ravenclaws scowled. “She’s been targeting us ‘Claws, too. As if Looney Lovegood would actually fight back. She _deserves_ to be at the bottom of the chain in that case, you know? Not clever enough to get out of being the crazy little shit of the tower.”

“And who allows it? _Zabini._ The woman is burning bridges left and right, practically prostrating herself to the Light to make nice. We don’t need that sort of rubbish leadership. Always knew a girl’s rule would be _weak._ Didn’t Bagnold prove this?”

“Zabini’s worse, because she can’t be puppeted like Bagnold. Bagnold let loose hundreds of criminals because we had the right people in the right places. Zabini’s too aware of how fucking incompetent she is as a leader, it’s made her paranoid. Osbourne says she wards the hell out of her bed every night.”

“Weasley probably taught her those.” murmured the Hufflepuff, shaking his head.

Derrick snorted. “In exchange for some out-of-proportion favor or other. Why a _bloodtraitor_ can ward that well, it’s unthinkable. Her and that Curse Breaker brother of hers, they probably stole their techniques from a _proper pureblood._ Or perhaps a trade or bribe? We all know Weasleys are basically in poverty, but they do have pretty faces, don’t they?”

There was a tightening around my shoulders. Percy was about to lose his shit.

Which is why it was lucky they turned the corner, a trail of feathers and insults marking their leave. I struggled to undo the _Silencio_ — silent casting was more fine control than power, you see, and though I had a lot of the latter, it made it proportionally difficult to have much of the former — and then spelled away the Notice-Me-Nots. Percy’s face was red with fury, the letter in his hands half-crumpled with his clenching fingers.

“Derrick from Slytherin,” I sighed, “Says the same things every time.”

Percy whipped around to me. “He’s said that _before?”_

I shrugged. “To my face and to Josephine’s face and behind our backs and around our fronts, whenever he likes. She can’t be too harsh on him because his brother’s apparently her betrothed, and he can’t do much because Josephine’s too clever.”

Percy scowled fiercely. “That was Nicholas Rowle and and Benjamin Quincy from Ravenclaw. Rowle is a seventh-year, Quincy is a fifth-year. Derrick is sixth, I believe? The other Slytherin was Maverick Sinclair, seventh-year. The Hufflepuff was Torrence Lockwood, sixth year.”

I gaped at Percy. “What? _How?”_

He sniffed. “I try to be responsible for everyone under me, Lyssie. As Head Boy, _I know things.”_

“Holy Merlin, you’re my favorite brother.”

“I know.”

“Prat.” I shook my head. “I’ll let Josephine know. And I’ll give you a good mention, brother. Please hurry up and ask her to Hogsmeade, okay?”

Percy squinted at me. “I thought you fancied her yourself?”

I gave a quick grin. “But you’re my favorite brother and always have been.”

He grumbled to himself, not embarrassed in the least. (A lie.) “Let’s just send this letter, shall we?”

“Hopefully Mum and Dad can read it after you’ve crushed it like this.”

“Hush, Lyssie. Hurry up so you can have Zabini do something to those… _people_ , so I don’t have to.”

In the end, three things happened. First: we mailed the letter and wrote a post-script apologizing for the state of it, which our parents replied to cheerfully though Mum did scold Percy for not tucking letters in between book covers like she’s always said we should. Second: when I got back to the Slytherin commons, I informed Nate and Dietrich what happened, and in the end, got some tutoring in advanced spellwork from some fifth years in exchange for dropping the names off to Josephine. (Those boys had trouble looking her in the eye after that, for quite a while. I don’t really want to know what she did, but at the same time, I bloody wish I knew what Josephine did to them.) Third: Josephine marched up to the Gryffindor table one lunch and demanded that Percy ask her to Hogsmeade, which he — blushingly — did.

 

**…**

 

_“…Strange holiday?” — white walls and white blankets, pale sunlight through the tall windows. Arching ceilings were familiar to her — “Sure you want to hear me complain? It’s not as interesting as your duels.” he said, smiling._

_She patted the place next to her — side by side, a tiny Notice-Me-Not swirling around them, he marveled at her wandless magic even if he couldn’t see it. She grinned at him anyways — “I don’t believe that. I’m as bothersome as you, Professor Snape thinks. Means you’re the original troublemaker. I’m sure you’ll blow me out of the water, Harry.” — tightened his fingers, pale skin stretching across bony knuckles, teeth gritting. He remembered._

_Stop._

_“I think I consider you sort of me and mine.” — a smile and a laugh, shaking her head. She looked up at that ridiculous girl with red hair and a steady gaze. The girl looked back, crossing her arms and waiting — “Only you, Guinevere.”_

_Stop._

_She threaded her fingers through the hair, cherrywood in color, browner than her own, longer and silkier. There were few knots, and — “You talked to Nate last night didn’t you?” asked the boy, lip nearly curled into a smile. She laughed. “How ever did you guess?” “He won’t stop saying your name. Lys.” — pushing up his glasses, cocky smirk, dark eyes glinting with mischievousness — three sections, twist under and under and over and braid, and braid, and — “I meant to speak with you, too, Jay. …You’re alright, aren’t you? Your colors… they seem… stressed, I suppose.” — jolting moss green, crackling with blackened edges, brittle, shy. Jay bit his lip._

_No one was in the common room this early, no one ever was, this was_ their _time — Jay leaned against the couch, she sat with her legs folded underneath her, surrounded in knitted blankets and fluffy pillows and not very Slytherin things — nest, she nested, Josephine postured and Lyssie liked to nest — “You’re the worst Slytherin I’ve ever met.” — Jay smiled._

_“I’m getting a contract,” he said quietly, “to a girl in America. My mother arranged it all.”_

_Stop._

_Her hand darted out, quick as silver, and gripped his tightening fist as best as she was able. He was cold, and she frowned at it, looking — “Harry. You don’t have to… It’s okay-” He shook his head — blazing house, scream of magic, the cry of an infant — “I am Lord Voldemort. I. Do. Not. Fail.” — “Not Harry, please, not Harry, not Harry, have mercy-” — tightening jaw and fists and hardened green eyes, high windows and streaming light and white arches, red hair trailing down her shoulders. He trembled, almost unnoticeable-_

_“No. I want to tell you, I need to… I just… I hate him, Lys, I hate him. He_ killed my parents. _It’s his f-fault and I-I… I want him_ dead.”

_Stop._

_??? — tunnel, black and shadows and glints of moonlight silver, breath running short — the full moon above, she turned on her heel, fell, her hands began to bleed — “HOW DARE YOU-” roared the man, eyes wild and hair stringy and robes filthy, the other trembling before him. Dust clouded his footsteps — Choice? — rat scurried away, a wolf howled, the black cloaks swarmed and darkened the moon — silver stag — ???_

_Stop._

_“…Do you want to kill him?”_

_He jolted. “What?”_

_She held his hand. It hurt. “Do you want to kill him yourself?”_

_He looked away — There is no good or evil — the golden snitch on front of him, the cool of it touching his fingers, the rush of wind around his robes — She squeezed his hand. “I don’t know. I… I want to know_ why. _I want to know… I want the traitor_ dead _and I want to know whether he was an evil person or a coward or both, or- or anything. I want-”_

_Stop._

_Gentle smile, crooked a little, like her dad’s. “Then I don’t think you’re a bad person at all.” — She’d do much worse, much worse if — sting on her cheek, Molly gasped. Arthur looked at the little girl in front of him harshly, panic and helpless anger in his eyes._ “Never _._ NEVER _. Never_ ever _think that, Lyssie. Pandora Lovegood’s death_ was not your fault. _Luna’s grief_ is not your fault.” _— she patted his knee, fingers relieved to have blood back, Harry grinned sheepishly. — “You’re a much better person than I am, Potter, believe me.”_

_Stop._

I opened my eyes, and immediately winced.

“GAH! _Fucking_ Seer headache, fuck you!”

(Thank Merlin I didn’t have roommates.)

Seems I’d pushed a bit too far that time. But, oh my oh my, my Clairvoyance _was_ giving me some hints. Some useless garbage, too, stuff I’d lived through already — Harry and I had a _lovely_ chat in the Hospital Wing about Sirius Black and the morality of wanting revenge, not that I had a good track record in that department being a _Slytherin queen_ but whatever — but hints. I was further along the choice, as there was much less insecurity around the choice. It was solidifying, and when it did, I’d be able to better find out what the hell was going on.

Pettigrew… ah, how _lovely_ it would be, to do something to him. I couldn’t nab him, for whatever reason, but…

Anyways.

_Thank you, cambion,_ I thought to myself for the millionth time, pinching between my brows to try to stave off the headache anyways, _I can at least See more now. Fucking finally._

I scrubbed my hands down my face tiredly. The outcomes were sharpening into focus. And I was almost completely sure I was going to add Josephine to one of mine, or at least peripherally — like how Alby was — and that part of balancing or causing or _whatevering_ the choice. There was another component, though. Missing ones, I think. Like… like fulfilling necessary objectives for the outcome I wanted, I was halfway done with the Josephine bit and probably fulfilled quite a few others by just generally being Harry’s friend and thusly involved in all this… but there were others, because the outcome wasn’t solid yet.

Ugh. Fuck. When, _when_ was I going to get to the Clairvoyance bits in Helvynya Prevett’s damn book that would help me with this stuff? She’s _the_ most powerful Clairvoyant in recorded history, there’s no way she didn’t know how to interpret choices and fate better than I did.

_Knock knock._

I blinked at my door in surprise. I didn’t have many guests in my dorm.

“Give me a moment.” I called, rolling off my bed and grabbing my wand in one smooth motion.

I started casting some cleaning charms, just to give off the impression that I was much more organized than chaos, then had to adjust my wards for temporary entrance. Annoying stuff, that; some of the defenses, I even took down completely. But it was enough for the door to get itself open and for me to greet one of my first-years, an Adaline Mercer.

She looked at me a little nervously, but not fearfully — I wasn’t _Malfoy_ or anything. I’d spoken to her before; she was in my _potesta,_ after all. “Weasley? Dietrich Bastion said to come fetch you for _potesta_ business. He said he’ll be in the usual place with the usual people.”

Abandoned classroom with the boys. Got it.

I nodded cordially to Mercer. “Thank you, Mercer.”

The girl gave me a dimpled smile and then ran off. I looked at her back fondly. She used to be teased and cornered by these three Gryffindor girls a lot, before my take-over. Malfoy couldn’t be bothered to do anything about it, and Mercer had been quiet and paranoid. With a _magnus_ mentor to tutor and guide her, a Slytherin support structure to keep her steady, and the mandatory traveling in three’s and four’s… Mercer was much more sociable now. As loyal to me as someone like that could get, with a healthy dash of Slytherin-wariness added to it.

I Summoned and levitated my things together, tucking _Sollertia Augurium_ under my arm. Nate was helping the translation, very interested in the Mind Arts that were later in the book. In between business, we’d work on this.

I was just locking up my wards when my head pulsed with pain. Once. Then twice. Then three times. My eyes narrowed mid-chant and I halted the warding, centered myself quickly, and _dove._ Clairvoyance was warning me of something important (another sign my Occlumency wasn’t a _fucking mess_ anymore) and it must’ve been considerable, if it was just after I let it play around during my meditation.

_Walking in the corridors, footsteps echoing. She had her wand at her — ??? — in her hand, gripped tight, wary expression, narrowed eyes. ??? The shadows in the corners stilled, hesitated — Choice? — tucked into her sock, under her skirt, waiting._

_Hand drifting at her side, careless toss of rose-colored hair — ??? — stepped out, grey eyes trained and inhuman and — filthy, black, matted and — ??? — “Who’s there?” — Choice — ??? — “Lyssie’s a bit late, now, isn’t she?”_

_Truth — hide lies price — paid choice choice choice — ??? — clacking on the floor, hands loose. She looked up at the approaching — “GET THE RAT!” — Josephine laughed and shook her head at the girl, rolling her eyes fondly. Always — blood dripped on the grass, dribbled, warm and black in the moonlight — “I am so sorry-” she said, she pulled, she ??? — ??? — her hands loose at her sides. She looked up at the approaching-_

_Stop._

Haaaaah, this is when you really knew my Sight was fucking back. After abandoning me in first year — likely due to how tightly I had to draw my mind in with fucking Tom and his tricky shit, added to the fact that I apparently was not in mortal peril the entire time — and then being bitch-slapped by several dementors on two different occasions, I’d nearly forgotten that it could give me head’s ups for things like this. Ginny falling down the stairs, Ron falling in a river, neither were life-threatening to _myself_ but they were important and I could affect them.

Well.

_-at the approaching dog_ , is what it was. Who did we know that was a dog that could _somehow_ have an influence on important matters this year? Hm. 

And let’s not forget: it was looking more and more likely that there was an outcome, here, where I could… possibly catch Pettigrew. Which would be, you know, pleasant for everyone. Especially me. I had some… pest control spells I’ve always wanted to try on him, just to see if they’d work. And this would be the most desirable outcome, yes?

So all I had to do was slip my wand in its usual place and walk. Easy. Another objective, struck out.

 

**…**

 

I took a meandering path to the abandoned classroom, hands swinging nonchalantly at my sides, wand hidden neatly under my uniform’s skirt and in reaching distance of my fingers. It happened a bit slower than I thought it would.

I didn’t have extraordinary senses, but I did have Mage Sight. I hated using it in Hogwarts, I really did; even at a 75% veil, there was bloody golden sparkles all over the place and the deep, chorus-like humming buzzing faintly in my ears. I had to actually adjust myself to it for a minute or two, resisting the nausea of that much shit going on, before I felt even remotely okay with searching out other magical signatures.

That of the dog’s wafted by in broken, shredded, Dark colors — a jolt of disharmony in the hallways I was walking in. I didn’t even hear or see or smell the dog, I just knew it was there by the very odd pattern to the faint fog and floating strings. After a few minutes of painstakingly tracking its following me, the colors growing into something less faint and more maroon-ish, _that’s_ when I felt the eyes on my back. That hair-raising, half-paranoid feeling only hit when the evening shadows grew a bit too dark; dark enough to hide a Grimm, say.

There was a soft _click-click-click_ of nails on stone, and I turned, unsurprised in the slightest when a massive, black dog blinked sunken grey eyes at me. Even expecting it, I inwardly pinched my brow. _Of course I come across the Azkaban escapee._

“Well, then. There’s no _way_ you’re a normal dog. Hogwarts wouldn’t let just any mutt inside her walls.” I said blandly.

And even without that little tidbit of knowledge, the dog wasn’t a normal dog. It looked big enough for me to _ride_ , honestly; the crest of his head was at _my shoulder._ I know I wasn’t the tallest around, but I was a respectable _almost_ 5 feet, okay, that was _ridiculous._ He could probably knock me over, even looking starved enough that he was probably half the weight he should’ve been even a bit thin.

That was… actually a bit worrying, honestly. There were patches of fur missing, like his body couldn’t even support that much. The patches were sparse, but large, and I could very plainly see the jutting ribs. Man, dogs were _not_ supposed to look like this. (The bit of me that once had a lovely little pupper cringed in sympathy and horror and itched to pet the coarse fur-)

The dog sat on his haunches, looking at me patiently.

I stared back, waiting for him to move. 

After a few moments, he stood and very, very slowly approached me, steps deliberate and eyes trained on mine. Like he was the one approaching a wild animal, and I was the one that was worrying. The massive thing’s head was _at my shoulder_ , and me being three inches shy of five feet tall, that was a little fucking ridiculous. It very carefully reached down to my robe sleeve, though, and tugged at it.

Man, if I didn’t know this was a wizard already, I would’ve been _very_ hostile at this point.

“So you want me to follow you, then? I suppose…” I said reluctantly.

Because I am apparently the sort of person that follows strangers into empty and dark corners, I let the dog tug on my sleeve and I eventually end up walking with my hand resting on his shoulder, fingers absently trying to untangle the matted fur. (Matted fur is the worst, and I itch for either scissors or a tiny _Diffindo_ to fix this, goddammit, this poor animal-) We end up in an old lecture hall that I’ve never seen used — likely for an elective that no professor teaches anymore, or something similar — and the dog stares pointedly at the door until I’ve locked _and_ warded it.

When I finish a Muffliato around the room, I raise a brow at the dog. “My wand’s out, so I hope you know that if you attack me, I’m a very Dark witch and I happen to know the Blood Boiling Hex, which is amazingly still legal.”

We’re standing far enough apart that I _could_ cast the spell and hit if the dog lunged for my throat. I’ve never cast it before, but I’ve Seen it enough to know how to. I’ve never cast a purely Dark spell, actually, but I think I have enough drive to do it if I have to. Dark spells are fueled best by the will to win, and there’s nothing in me but that, sometimes. It’s Sirius Black, he’s one of the good guys by most definitions, but I don’t trust myself to know that anymore.

_Because I was weak? — No, because I was._

_Stop._

There’s a beat of silence, the dog blinks, and then his form _shudders_ and warps and twists, and then instead of an ungodly large, Grimm-like dog standing in front of me, there’s a skeletal man in rags instead. I expected it, but I still flinched. (I always expect it and I always flinch.) He staggers forward, robes and lanky hair swaying as he does, and there’s a trembling in his fingers that I can see from even here.

“I knew it,” comes a hoarse voice, “I knew you wouldn’t be surprised.”

There’s a distant part of me that sort of thinks _Well shit that’s not good,_ but it’s mostly covered by the more immediate and hostile part of me that wants to know why I think Sirius Black is telling me he thinks I know things. I shouldn’t know things. He shouldn’t be looking at me like that, like I’m a Seer. I’ve very carefully set up spy networks and gossip rings and my own competency as a _parvus potesta_ reigning to _make sure_ no one suspects this sort of shit. Might not have been my purpose when I set out to become a queen of Slytherin, but it worked out nicely.

“Hello, Sirius Black.” I said, hand gripping my wand.

Sirius Black grinned, yellow and gaunt. “Hello, Seer. I have a few questions about a rat.”

_Yellow colors, curling, glassy, red-rimmed and rotting at the edges. I flinched as — “Well, hello, Peter. Long time no see.” — above, watching as the magic sunk into their skin and made them scream. He trembled and looked away as the Dark Lord laughed. He — “THEN YOU SHOULD’VE DIED!” screamed the skeleton — ??? — red flashed in the night, she screamed in pain. Her fingers were slick and the moon made everything monotone._

_The rat curled in his hand. “Don’t be scared, Lyssie, he’s just a rat.”_

_She gripped at her brother’s sleeves. Percy frowned — never backs away from him like the others do, always goes to him for comfort, not Bill and Charlie, she always — “I’m not afraid of the rat. I just don’t like him.”_

_Stop._

How should I play this? is what the smart, good Slytherin would ask.

I was raised by Gryffindors.

In a blink, my wand was pointed in between Sirius Black’s eyes, my other hand tensed and ready to start spouting fire spells wandlessly if he tried to do something stupid, like grab my wand. My heartbeat was thundering in my ears and adrenaline was kicking in again. Adrenaline didn’t slow down time, after all; I’d have thought I’d Apparated if I weren’t sure Hogwarts wouldn’t allow it.

“I should _Obliviate_ you for knowing that.” I heard myself say calmly.

Sirius Black was careful to be still. As still as his weak frame could take. “I can explain.”

“Why should I let you? One of my dearest friends-” _One of mine-_ “-wants you dead. He’s quite the sweet boy — if he wants anyone dead, I’m sure they deserve it.” I heard again. (My god, my mouth really just liked running on its own, didn’t it?)

He wavered. “I _do_ deserve it. But you know. The rat isn’t a rat. I know you know. I can explain.”

“Again, Sirius Black…” My voice took on that dangerous, lilting tone that I know I heard a lot in Nate’s voice regularly, and Jay’s voice when he was angry. _That_ tone. “…Why should I let you?”

“Because I know you want him dead as much as I do.”

…That was very true.

In every way, really. I wanted Pettigrew punished properly. I didn’t want that little fuck to get away, I wanted him _fucked up_ for infiltrating my _home_ and threatening _mine_ and allowing his disgusting colors to plague my Sight all these years. And I allowed this meeting — I made this choice — in hopes that this would happen eventually, and the punishment wouldn’t be as severe as death or Squib-ness, as many punishments threatened when I tried to change these things.

Everything was for this. To get revenge for my family, all of whom didn’t even know they’d been wronged already.

(And maybe if I could change something this important I could change-)

(Maybe if Pettigrew went away, Bill wouldn’t have his throat torn-)

(Or if I proved I could play the long game like this, Fred wouldn’t-)

(And maybe if-)

(Maybe my family could-)

(Maybe-)

“I don’t like being caught off-guard like this, Sirius Black.” I said, lowering my wand slightly, “It’s not nice, being blindsided. So talk.”

Sirius Black grinned. “Better than I expected. It’d be nice to have a Seer on my side.”

“Not yet.”

“You’re the Clairvoyant here, missy. It’s already happened.”

_Sirius Black, grey eyes rolled up to look at her — wand lowered, back in her sock, meaning all was safe. She rolled her eyes at him — “Tilly, if you could set up making me some extra snacks? Easy to eat, easy on the stomach, because I’ve been-” — ??? — red red red all over — Peter Pettigrew screamed, the moon rose, the wolf howled — ? — “He’s my godson, you know.”_

_Stop._

“Maybe.” I said, stepping back stiffly. “Depends on the choices, Black. You better choose to talk soon, or you’re not getting another chance out of my questionable _Obliviate._ ”

Sirius Black nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, just- Sit. Please. There’s… a lot. There’s a lot. I need your help, I- I- There’s a lot.”

“Start with what I want to hear,” I said, “and tell me how you knew what I was.”

“Well, that’s easy. I knew the last Clairvoyant in Britain. Your great-grandfather, Septimus.”

I stilled. “That’s… impossible. Wasn’t… He was a Weasley. His wife was disowned because of it.”

Black grimaced. “I… I don’t know where you’re getting your facts, girl, but Aunt Cedrella wasn’t disowned. I knew them, both of them. The last thing Septimus Weasley told me was to approach the girl carrying the Mind Eater’s work at Hogwarts for help, when I needed it.” He gazed up at me steadily. “And that’s you.”

Well, then. Looks like canon switched up on me again. And, evidently, Helvynya Prevett’s Clairvoyance choice wasn’t the only one that echoed down to affect me.

I crossed my arms, leaned against a speaker’s podium. “Tell me everything, Black.”


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I LIVE!
> 
> Okay, so y'all who don't read these, here's the rundown: 
> 
> Sorry for the sporadic updates, I have reasons, you're all the fucking best for sticking with this fic, and thank you so, so much for reading! :) I also appreciate comments, but know I love you all no matter what. Enjoy the chapter!
> 
> So. For those of you who care about admin stuff, I have some announcements. 
> 
> Firstly: Sporadic updates will persist until further notice, though I will of course attempt to post at least twice a month on a Tuesday. :'D Secondly: Rose Petal Red now has that outtake series I've been talking about!! :) 'Tis called Quicksilver Thorns, and currently only consists of a Dietrich POV, and will have even more sporadic updates than this one. Thirdly: I mean to post this chapter AGES ago but my laptop broke -- I was deep in mourning -- so this here is the first chapter written on my new laptop! :D Fourthly: not gonna lie, this was a bit of a rush chapter, but I was pretty excited to finally not have a broken laptop, so have fun.
> 
> Aaaaaaaand that's that. Thanks for reading! :)

 

**…**

 

“It’s a long story,” said Black, oddly hesitant again.

I narrowed my eyes. I glanced at my wand, then slowly started casting — wouldn’t do to alarm the skittish Azkaban-escapee, right? My wand went through the motions for _Nuntiam_ , the paper-message spell, which I was casting on a spare bit of parchment Summoned from the bag slung across my chest. A quick note penned to my boys, telling them not to wait up for me, was folded into a paper airplane and I rolled my eyes when I had to dismantle my touchier wards to let it shoot out the door.

When I’d turned again, Sirius Black was a dog. Probably spooked when I opened the door, the paranoid bastard.

“There,” I said, putting wards up again and lamenting the waste of magic silently, “I have all the time in the world now, Black.”

The dog’s form shimmered and twisted back into the skeleton of an ex-con, the man frowning and swaying where he stood. “Where… I don’t… I don’t know where to begin.” he murmured, backing into a desk, his arms wobbling to support him.

Good god, the man was going to keel over.

“Begin with Septimus Weasley,” I said primly, edging nearer to stand in front of him; as if I were a professor, lecturing an Azkaban prisoner in a dusty old lecture room. “I was under the impression that Cedrella Black’s marriage to him led to her being disowned. I was also under the impression that he was a weak Clairvoyant, only had visions once a week.”

Sirius Black stretched his gaunt face into a Glasgow grin. “Good. That’s what he wanted everyone to think.”

“Everyone except you?” I asked, skeptically and silently pointing out that the man’s name had been Septimus _Weasley_.

Surprisingly enough, Sirius Black’s mind was sharp enough to pick that up. “He was a Weasley by name, but he married a Black. You don’t have one of my family in your school-”

“Besides the one in front of me,” I murmured.

“-but my family is- _was_ one that liked its power. Septimus Weasley’s visions didn’t come often, but when they did, they were as coherent as an Assessor’s.”

The implications were…

Well. This meant that my great-grandfather tricked the world into thinking he was a weak Clairvoyant, similar to the way I was tricking the world into thinking I was only a Soothsayer, if they even got to that level of information. This _implied_ that the reason Cedrella Black wasn’t disowned as I believe she was supposed to be, was because of this; Septimus Weasley had power, and he had guile, and that cancelled out his bloodtraitor status.

(Considering the fact that I was a _parvus potesta_ reigning, that wasn’t that surprising.)

But this _also_ meant that he was a DAMN STRONG Clairvoyant. A stronger one than I was: powerful, coherent, possibly _controllable_ visions? Fuck. That was so damn unfair. That was _so damn_ unfair.

Burning with jealousy and trying to hide it — probably didn’t succeed, with how amused Sirius Black looked, though the guy was crazy so who knows what was going on with him? — I frowned at the man.

“My grandfather, Bilius,” I started, “If Septimus was taken into the Black family that closely, wouldn’t all of his children and their children, my father included, be raised Black? We’re bloodtraitors, though.”

The man coughed, which had me wincing at the harshness of the sound. “Septimus Weasley was a seventh son. His six older brothers didn’t take kindly to the fact that he got on better with the Blacks than his own family. Bilius, Enid, Arcturus, and Phineas Weasley were raised half Black and half Weasley, but the only survivors of Septimus’ line by the time the first Blood War ended was your father.”

My hands clenched. Dad didn’t like talking about the first Blood War because of that. I liked to pretend I never had uncles or aunts on that side — the ones that were there were all fucked off in other countries, having hidden from Voldemort and never deigning to return. The only one who’d stayed was Quintus Weasley, who’d raised Dad and his siblings but also died in the war. Lots of people who were ghosts to me and my siblings, basically.

It wasn’t hard to forget the Weasley family used to be huge, since they really weren’t anymore. Eight magical children was a lot in this time, but people tend to forget that that used to be a normal thing in pureblood circles. They stopped because of some stupid belief that more children meant less powerful magic — bullshit, all my siblings were hella strong — and because people were tired of siblings assassinating each other for heirship. (Shoutout to my bloodtraitor roots, for deciding that the grand House ceremonies and positions were rubbish and abolishing the competitive practices, therefore allowing children to get along.) The Weasleys and to a lesser extent the Prewetts never really engaged in that rot.

No, we just ended up on the losing side of the first Blood War, and all our branch families fled into obscurity.

(“We didn’t really win the war, you know,” my father said to me and Ginny once.

“Didn’t we?” Ginny asked, small and inquisitive, “Harry Potter killed You-Know-Who, though!”

Dad looked distant and sad. “Harry Potter isn’t just the Boy-Who-Lived. He was our miracle.”

I’d tugged on my Dad’s robes. “So we were losing before then?”

“Yes.” He tugged both of us closer; bedtime stories usually weren’t this wistful and sad, but Ginny and I liked the extra attention anyways. “We were losing before then. In fact, little queen… I think we had already lost. I certainly had.”)

“So Septimus Weasley’s grandchildren were… taken from his influence. Dad doesn’t remember much of his father or Septimus, just… just Quintus Weasley. But he liked Septimus, certainly. Enough to name me after the man’s mother-in-law.” I muttered to myself, trying to keep it all straight in my head.

Sirius Black must’ve had a dog’s hearing, because he hummed a confirmation. His hum was more of a groan, of course, but I can’t fault the man for looking like an escaped asylum patient and a concentration camp worker had a very unfortunate child.

“It wasn’t hard to love Septimus Weasley,” said the man, his eyes going even more distant than they already were, “He was a good man. He was… a… What was he? He was… protective. And… And he wanted…”

Oh.

Oh god. 

He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember, because it was easy to love Septimus Weasley. Because Septimus Weasley made people _happy._ Because Septimus Weasley made Sirius Black happy, and Sirius Black couldn’t remember happy things because of the dementors. Because he’d been stuck with dementors for twelve years, or was an animal that didn’t possess human emotions or human memory.

The man hunched in on himself, murmuring under his breath too loudly, trying to remember why Septimus Weasley was important. His eyes were wide and unseeing, his arms were wrapped around himself as he bowed, hair nearly covering his pale face.

“Uncle Sevens was… He gave us… things. Brooms? No, that was… Uncle Algie? But… But no. Uncle Sevens was a Clairvoyant, he said to- he said- he told me to find the Clairvoyant with the Mind Eater’s book, I read it Uncle, I read all of it, it was horrible- It was horrible- She did things to people’s heads, she was- Helvynya Prevett was- No, no. No. Uncle Sevens, why did you make me read it? Who was I looking for? James. Jamie. Where… Where is the pup, James? Where? Uncle Sevens, you said to find the girl with the book that eats heads but I can’t find my puppy, where is he? James… James, what did you look like, how did you used to laugh…? James, what was the color of your hair? I can’t remember- Uncle Sevens, _help me…_ ”

I was not Septimus Weasley. I did not love someone enough to let them call me ‘Uncle Sevens’.

But Sirius Black begged for help, like a child crying out for their mother, and how could I stand like a professor lecturing a student in a dusty old classroom when there was a man standing before me, who couldn’t even remember the name of his godson?

My first steps were hesitant, testing. He didn’t notice me move, didn’t see the dust shift. The next steps were faster, more confident, and then I was in front of him, leaning forwards. I didn’t touch him, grab onto him — that was like trapping someone, right? I didn’t want to trap Sirius Black.

There was always an emergency bit of chocolate in my hidden pockets, where I used to hide Tom Riddle’s diary. The boys insisted on it after I’d put myself in a fucking coma because of shitty Occlumency barriers and many, many dementors. They wouldn’t let up until I mastered the Patronus, and I hadn’t even gotten close with that.

It would be donated to a good cause tonight.

“Easy, Sirius,” I said gently, fetching out my chocolate, peeling it from the foil, trying to press it into his twitching fingers, “This is chocolate. For you, okay? You take a bite of that, see if you don’t feel better. You know why it will make you feel better, don’t you?”

Sirius’ eyes, grey and bloodshot, darted from my hands to my face. He slowly got a grip on the chocolate bar. “Because,” he said slowly, “Chocolate is… sweet. And… Uncle Sevens used to- he- need to eat. He said to. And… And it helps with… dementors. With them. Alright. Yes, I can…”

I breathed a sigh of relief when he took a nibble of the chocolate. His face seemed to light up in understanding, because suddenly the bar was gone and his shaking had stopped. He looked at me, part confused and part grateful, and I grimaced at my lack of _self-preservation._ I was right up next to fucking Sirius Black. Even if he hadn’t blown up a bajillion Muggles on the street and (unfortunately) hadn’t killed Pettigrew, he was still an accomplished Dark wizard and a _Black._ Being just a Black should be dangerous enough.

“Thank you,” he rasped.

I took a step back and tried to recover what distance I had before. (Didn’t work.) “I want answers, and you won’t give them to me if you’re…”

“Being insane?” he suggested with a grin.

“Something like that,” I allowed. “Don’t… think about how great Septimus Weasley was, if it’s difficult. I want to know what he told you. Why you came to me.”

Because orders or advice or whatever it was, Sirius Black remembered it even through the Azkaban stint and the dementor-crazy. He knew to look for me eventually. I wanted to know _why._ I wanted to know what Sirius Black knew about me already, what I had to be careful of.

Besides the whole, he’s the heir of the House of Black bit. Or rather, its Paterfamilias, now, since Orion Black is dead and has been for a while. _That_ , I know, is for certain because there was an obituary in the Daily Prophet years back that Dad skimmed at the breakfast table. Oh, but wait.

Sirius Black has read _Sollertia Augurium_ , apparently.

After Septimus Weasley and all this business was done, I would have _questions._

“He told me… He said that he would always See a girl. A girl with hair the color of rose petals, a Clairvoyant just like him, who carried around… who carried the Mind Eater’s book. I read it, you know… I read it. It was… horrible. The things that woman did to people… The things she did to enemies of her House… I read it. And you are, now.”

I nodded. “I’m highly interested in her notes on Clairvoyance.”

The man barked out a laugh. “Yes, there’s that. Uncle Sevens… who- NO. No. Septimus Weasley, he read it, too. And he said that… He said that the girl he saw, the other Clairvoyant, she would help me. When I was stuck and I couldn’t think straight, the girl with the Mind Eater’s book might help me. I… I took the chance. You’re a Clairvoyant — you know. You have to know, you’re a Weasley. You have to know that Peter Pettigrew has been lying to you — to both of us — for years.”

“He betrayed you,” I said quietly.

“He betrayed _all of us!”_ Sirius Black hissed, “He _killed_ my brother! My sister! They were- James and Lily- They- He killed them. I did too, it was my fault, but it was _Pettigrew_ that did it. He has a Dark Mark, hidden in his sleeves. In glamours. He was always good at Charms… Better than every other subject. He betrayed them, and I killed them, and _I_ ** _want him DEAD._** _”_

He was breathing hard by the time he finished, the last word punctuated by a slam on the desk he was leaning on. It rattled with his strength, and I couldn’t imagine how angry he was to be able to pull _that_ off in his skeleton body. He barely looked like he had muscles, but the dust was still settling and he was gasping it into his lungs. Were he any stronger, I’m sure he’d be pacing.

I opened my mouth to ask more questions-

“Need to protect the pack,” he whispered, “Prongs and Lily-flower aren’t here, Moony hates me- I’m sorry, Moony- but the puppy. The puppy is still around and I need to kill the threat, can’t let the rat get to him, can’t- I can’t- My pack. My pack, they’re gone but little green-eyes is still there, I can’t remember how to hold him, James.”

After years of being in this body, treating it as my own, I’m rather sure I fluctuate between being the twelve-year-old than I am and the nineteen-year-old that I was. That said, it’s _heartbreaking_ for a child to watch a grown man break. I’ve never seen someone more broken than Sirius Black, trying to remember the names and faces of the people he loved the most.

My decision was made.

“Sirius,” I said quietly — have to use the first name, he might be triggered by the last name, right? — “Turn back into a dog. We’re going on a field trip- Go on. Back into a dog. I’ll guide you and everything.”

Tilly would probably know better than me how to feed a starving dog. Questions could come after that; I knew that the man would kill to protect one of mine, so I think he deserved a bit of rest. And maybe a bath.

 

**…**

 

It’s a side-room for when House Elves are sick, I think. None are at the moment, so its small walls and the tiny bed that functions are more of a seat are free for us, Tilly insisted. A metal wash basin filled with warm water and a bottle of baby shampoo sits in the corner, wooden stool across from it; for me to wash “Miss Lyssie’s doggie!” The end table near the bed is heaped with foods easy to digest — I’d told Tilly my stomach felt odd and I didn't think I’d be able to keep anything down — like plain breads and clear sodas and a huge bowl of broth, along with a Nausea Tonic and a my supplement potions, and some boiled cod and rice wrapped in paper for the dog I’m supposed to own.

I had cast wards on the door — lightly, just enough that the House Elves will know I want privacy — and then had dragged the stool to an empty corner and levitate the bed to stand sideways and trap me against the wall so Sirius could have some semblance of privacy to clean himself up. His dog-form had given me a very odd look before I’d done it, but I’d just shrugged.

It had been twenty minutes. All was silent but the clatter and bustle of the Kitchens outside, and the splashing of water. Sometimes Sirius would start muttering to himself, but I resolutely started working on Occlumency. Might as well get something done, in the most awkward situation I’d ever created for myself.

“Black,” I called, “toss your robes, I’ll repair them best I can.”

A grunt.

I rolled my eyes. “Fine, I’ll Summon them. I _can_ sew, you know. My mother is Molly Weasley.”

I did just that, just after liberal use of _Scourgify_ and such. Magical cleaning wasn’t as good as hand-washing, of course, but it did the job. Tilly had given me a needle and thread when I’d asked — tearfully, of course, “Why is Miss Lyssie insists to be working?! Tilly can sew! Tilly can fix hers clothings and make patches!” “Oh, I know Tilly, I know you can, but I really need to practice my… my embroidery.” “OH! Miss Lyssie be artsy with thread! Tilly gets yous more threads! Colorful ones!” — and I started closing gaping holes. If I used stupidly bright pink thread and started doodling yellow swirls all over the place, well, Sirius Black shouldn’t be taking so long to bathe in a _dog bath._ With baby shampoo.

(And really, the man was a Marauder. Maybe this would… cheer him up?)

(God, I was a disgusting person who grew attached to people too easily. Suspicious people. The more suspicious they were, the more easily I liked them. Why hadn’t I learned my lesson with Tom Riddle?)

Shit. Mum was way better as sewing. I could _kinda_ do it. Better than last life, certainly, but…

Yuck, these stitches are gross.

But they were done, and I called out a warning before I tossed ‘em back over the temporary bed-screen-thing. It wasn’t long until Black murmured an all-clear, and I could poke my head around the thing real quick to make sure he was okay. At least he hadn’t drowned or something.

“You look a lot better.” I said, standing and starting to put the room to rights.

“I… feel better.” said Sirius Black, eyes trained on the food.

The bed was set in the corner again and I patted the mattress. “Go on, then. Sit. Drink the tonics first, so you don’t accidentally kill yourself, and then eat. Slowly. Eat _slowly._ If you die because of over-eating, I swear to Merlin, I’ll… I dunno, I’ll tell Harry that you had an affair with Pettigrew and you were hunting him down to kill him for cheating or something.”

Sirius Black make a choked sound, but he didn’t start eating. He was staring into space.

I frowned. “Oi. Sirius, if you don’t eat everything, Tilly will cry. If you make Tilly cry, Dietrich and I will _actually_ murder you.”

There was a faint twitch of his lips, an almost smile, and he gave me a grateful look before slowly starting to eat. I let out a relieved sigh; whatever I was in my last life, in this one I was Molly Weasley’s daughter, and having someone starving in front of me just didn’t… sit well. I was glad my stupid attempts at levity were well-received, though — I didn’t handle emotions well at _all,_ didn’t know how to be all… Dietrich-ish, able to say the right things and with the right tone and all that.

While he ate, I elected to speak. Best get my own story out of the way, since he’s told what I wanted to know about his.

“I’m a Soothsayer, you know,” I said quietly, “Seeing-sight and a bit of hearing-sight, too.”

“Born-in, then,” Sirius mumbled.

I nodded in confirmation. Born-in Soothsayers more often than not had two senses — taste and smell went together, for instance, and usually only born-in Soothsayers could have those two — though one was more dominant than the other. My seeing-sight was much stronger than my hearing-sight. Learned Soothsayers usually only got one sense, and it would never be as strong as born-in Mage Sight; after all, learned Soothsayers didn’t suffer from physical afflictions to balance that advantage out, so there had to be some equality in the world.

When I was little, it was a bit flattering to know that my Mage Sight would always be stronger and more detailed than Alby’s. Then I realized my Mage Sight gave me fucking conditional asthma and there was only an on-off switch for the headache-inducing bullshit, so that smugness disappeared right quick.

Of course…

“Alby trained me, but I’ve learned more from _The Magick of Man-Hunters_ than he could teach. I guess it’s a born-in versus learned sort of thing, but- Well. Anyways. The point is, I’m a stronger Soothsayer than Alby is, and while he’s never noticed from the once he stepped foot into my house, I know the difference between an transformed Animagus’ magical core and a wizard’s and an animal’s.”

Sirius nearly dropped his food in excitement, eyes gleaming with something not so sane. “So Pettigrew-”

“Is on my shit-list, yes,” I interrupted, leaning forward and glaring until he got the hint and started eating again. “He hasn’t done as much to me as he has to you, but that little fuck has slept in my brothers’ beds and eaten out of my favorite brother’s hand, and I’d very much relish the chance to see his mind torn to pieces by dementors.”

_The way my mind almost was._

At this, Sirius Black dropped everything in his hands so they could curve into and out of claws, growling like the dog he half was. “I’ll do more than that to him, girl. I’ll tear his throat out with my _teeth._ ”

By the way he was baring his yellowy fangs, I believed him wholeheartedly.

(I also, wholeheartedly, approved at the display.)

“Not a good idea,” I warned, slightly glum at the thought.

The man snarled again. “And why not? You said- Uncle said- I- You’ll help me.”

I wanted to be offended, I really did. The way he said ‘help’ sort of felt like ‘follow’, and I was quite used to leading at this point in my life. And, really, this life or the last, I’d always hated being told to do something I didn’t want to do.

And I did want Pettigrew to die for being an unbelievable creep around _mine_ , but I also would rather he serve a purpose if he was going to fuck off, and what better purpose than to get my dear friend Harry out of his shitty household and with someone who actually cared about him? Never mind the questionable sanity of the man — if Sirius forgot to feed Harry, I’m sure Mum and I could think of something.

“I want the rat dead, too, you know,” I sighed, “But he’s necessary. Black, you’re never going to get your… puppy back… if you don’t have proof of your innocence.”

I wasn’t quite sure if he remembered Harry’s name, honestly. Harry might’ve been attached to too many happy memories for it, and the dementors certainly did a number on Sirius. Which was goddamn depressing, that Sirius was beginning to forget what happiness _was_. He sat, hunched and nearly frothing at the both in anger, muttering to himself but gazing at me wide-eyed when I spoke; he was the very picture of mentally unstable, driven by revenge and, I think, his inner dog’s pack sense. He knew he had to protect a vulnerable pup of the pack, but that’s all he knew clearly. The rest was…

A blur, I suppose.

“No.” he hissed, “Pettigrew dies. The rat _dies.”_

Pitiful and insane or not, I twitched in irritation. I tried to appeal to the possible-intact pack sense. “If you kill him, you will never get your pup back.”

“Threats to the pack _die_ , girl. You said you’d help- You- Get me Pettigrew, and I’ll do it myself.”

“You’re not killing him, Black. We need him alive.”

“I can smell the anger on you. You hate him as much as I do — Let me kill him!”

How can one want to throttle someone at the same time as get some food into them? He’d stopped eating. And now I knew how Mum felt on a daily basis, Merlin preserve me. “If he weren’t so useful, I’d help. But as is, Black, you need to eat and I need to explain why-”

“HE BETRAYED THEM-”

My temper snapped. “You. Are. Not. Touching. That. Fucking. RAT.”

Sirius Black stood, the platters clattering, his body swaying as he did. He sneered at me. “So you’ll betray me, too-”

“When you kill the rat, what is next?” I interrupted snappishly.

He paused.

I sensed a weakness. Like the Slytherin I was, I chased it. “Hm? What happens when you rip the traitor’s throat out, Sirius Black? He’ll be dead. What will you do then? Will you go to Harry, ask him to run away with you? He’s never met you, and you’ve murdered his friend’s rat. He’s thirteen years old, a half-trained wizard — can you bring him with you as you run? Teach him magic? Raise him? What great service are doing for the wizarding world that they won’t hunt you down? They’re already hunting. To them, you’ve killed thirteen Muggles and James and Lily Potter. Will they care that you have another body to your tally? Will anyone except you and me?” 

I had stood slowly over the course of my ruthless, hissing questions. I barely reached his chest but I stared into his sunken eyes and didn’t see a ferocity to match mine. 

“What happens after you kill Pettigrew, Sirius Black? What happens after he’s cold and dead? Will you die, too? Will you leave Harry alone, to live with those _filthy fucking Muggles_ that starve him, to live and find out his own _godfather_ abandoned him, too? Is that what Pettigrew’s death is worth? Don’t be a fool. You are suffering, but you are also twice my age and a half, and _my friend_ deserves better than dead family all over the place.”

(Let it never be said that I didn’t have the Weasley temper. It just came out a little differently.)

Sirius Black wasn’t gaping, but he’d gone so pale that I wouldn’t have been surprised if he started fading away then and there, and he was shaking. I winced inwardly, wondering if I’d been too harsh or demanded too much from his barely-functional self, but refused to take back words or apologize. No meaning in that. His eyes were wide and blank as he slowly sunk back down into the bed that was his seat, his hands balled into his robes and ruining folds of dirty black and dusty grey and bright, bright embroidery.

I took a breath, willing my irritation to fade and beckoning my pity to come back. I’d never seen a man look more lost.

My voice was much, much gentler, hand reaching to brush at his shoulder. “Sirius… You’ve been hunting the rat for so long. But you don’t hunt for the dead. You hunt for the living.”

There were tears glistening in his eyes. He was rigid and still, then he was defeated. His shoulders sagged and water spilled over his cheeks, and he looked at me with desperation. There was a helpless smile on his face, and that alone had me flinching back. It wasn’t even that crazed; he looked more lucid now than when he’d been eating.

“He’s my godson,” said Sirius Black.

“He is.” I said quietly.

“Harry. That’s his- He was- He was named fo-for- H-Hadrian. Hadrian’s Wall and- and James’ grandfather. James wanted Harry, b-but Lily-flower demanded a Roman name… because… I-I- Harry. Green-eyes. Pup.” Sirius looked down at his hands. “He lives with _Muggles?”_

The man looked much more… whole. Crying, but lucid. Unstable, but standing.

“I used to sneak him my Nutrient Supplements,” I murmured, “But I can’t- I can’t do anything to help him, and you can. The rat’s better alive.”

Sirius gave me a confused look. “Why…? You, more than anyone, should- You should want Pettigrew dead. You shouldn’t care- He’s- He’s my godson, but- your friend? He’s your friend? You’d spare the rat for…?”

I realized I was folding my arms, clutching at my sleeves. “Harry’s my friend. And I have a really stupid bleeding heart for suspicious characters of dubious origin.” Then I smiled, sharp as razors. “And really, death isn’t that bad. I’d much rather see Pettigrew’s mind shredded by dementors.”

“He can have my old cell,” Sirius growled, his face returning to a more natural color. The lucidity seemed to be sticking, despite the nearly manic anger. 

Then he paused, looking thoughtful, scrubbing the tears from his cheeks and leaving his eyes only slightly red-rimmed as proof. He looked at me. “I- Thank you. You’re thinking of- You’re doing more for my godson than I ever could. I just- I- Thank you.”

“He’s one of mine,” I said, thinking of the timid boy in the train station becoming the boy who sat with me in the Hospital Wing, laughing at the stories I had of a creature we’d both went through hell and back to kill, “He’s one of mine, and I take the protection of mine very seriously.”

Sirius Black smiled faintly. “Protect the pack.”

“I’ve been Seeing the deaths and torments of the Blood Wars my whole life, Black,” I answered, “There is nothing more important to me than protecting my family from the things I’ve Seen. I will fail in some cases, but _not a single one of them_ will suffer more than I have tried to prevent.”

He smiled more broadly, and there’s a sharpness that has nothing to do with his jutting, skeletal features. “I came- I came to ask you to help me kill him. Now… I don’t have a wand, but we need to capture the rat. That’s- That’s how I’ll get my pup back, isn’t it? Pettigrew just has to-” 

Sirius Black went pale again, suddenly. I almost started forward, worried he’d eaten too much and was about to be sick or something.

But he looked at me with horror. “Pettigrew is your family’s rat. Wouldn’t- He- Does he _know?”_

Know-?

Know.

Ah.

I never believed it when people said their stomach’s dropped. It can’t be that bad, I always thought. It’s really, really not.

It’s worse.

It felt like my heart was falling into my gut. My chest ached with nothingness, felt like it was falling and collapsing in on itself. There was a vacuum in my chest and it was ripping the air out of my lungs.

“Oh fuck,” I think I whispered, “He knows I’m a Clairvoyant.”

And whether he escaped to Voldemort or was clasped in chains before Cornelius Fudge and Lucius Malfoy, the rat would say so.

 

**…**

 

_“Listen, Weasley. You have to go-”_

_“Go? I can’t- No, we need- I need-”_

_“It’s- It’s late. People will be looking. Meet me- Shrieking Shack tomorrow night. We can- We’ll see, then.”_

_“Black, I don’t- I can’t- No one can_ know _, you don’t understand, if they know then-”_

_“Oi. Weasley-girl. You’re panicking- I-I-I’m the crazy one, remember? It’s late and you- you have to go. You- You’re going to help me, so I’ll help you. We’ll think on it. Then we’ll see. Can’t- Can’t have a Slytherin Seer disappear, or we’ll never even touch the rat. Go.”_

CRASH!

All eyes in the dungeon turned to me, wide and shocked. Except for Snape. The man stood boredly at the front of the classroom, just about to ream into Ginny for her Potion-making probably. I blinked at the mess of shattered glass and bubbling blue syrup at my feet, the contents seeping into my trainers and making them feel a little odd and fuzzy.

Much like my head.

“Oh. Fuck.” I said simply.

Jay, my table partner for the day, hissed. “Lyssie!”

I heard Lu mutter to himself, “Is he mad about the potion or the swearing?”

Should’ve been more surprised and pleased when Dietrich casually reached over, waving his wand and muttering spells under his breath to repair the glass flask and try to save my shoes. In vain. The shoes were ruined, looking vaguely bubbly and exposing my radish-patterned socks (Oh, Luna, how I loved her presents) and the scuffed hole made by my right toe. I blinked, trying to help him clumsily and realizing how ridiculous I was being, but Snape was suddenly towering above me with a more sedate version of his customary sneer.

“Impressive, Weasley,” Snape drawled, “I see you begin to follow in the footsteps of your Gryffindor counterpart.”

A very light cuff on the back of the head, in Slytherin insult terms. All the Gryffindors who were on good terms with me or my sister or my boys looked insulted. So, basically, all the Gryffindors looked insulted.

“Apologies, Professor,” I said, cursing my inattentiveness and shoving any and all dread/horror/panic/shock/oh-god-I’m- _fucked_ behind my Occlumency barriers, “It won’t happen again.”

“Fortuitous, I think, that your partner did not Vanish the cauldron.” Snape said, walking away after righting what he could. The shoes were a lot cause, torn with holes from the Fizzing Potion, but at least my toes didn’t feel floaty anymore.

Someone muttered, scandalized, “He’d Vanish _my_ potion if I did that!”

“Stupid git.”

“Vanishes Longbottom’s potions all the time. Potter’s, too.”

“And her brothers’.”

All Gryffindors. Obviously. There were only eight Slytherins in the class, after all, excluding our beloved Professor. Poor things were so confused; defensive of Ginny’s sister or Lucas’ and Harper’s friend or that alright Weasley snake, or to be indignant that her professor favored her? It was almost amusing enough to distract me from why I dropped the potion in the first place.

Snape went back to swooping around at the kids who weren’t finished with the Fizzing Potion — thank Merlin for fussing Dietrich, neglecting Harper and his tendency to ignore instructions and blow shit up instead, opting to help Jay and I out and steal samples from us instead — and Jay nudged me gently. He was ladling more of the potion into a funnel for our flask, the workstation a sanctuary of neatness compared to the messes Harper and Lu made of their respective stations, looking uneasy and worried for me.

“Are you alright, Lyssie?” he asked in a low voice.

Because Jay was the sweetheart type that wouldn’t want to embarrass anyone in public unintentionally. Intentionally was a different story; Jay and his lovely auburn braid and jade eyes weren’t so sweet, then.

“Distracted,” I murmured back, “I got held up by a lot of things last night. Didn’t sleep much.”

“The portraits said you were walking back to the dorms when it was almost light out, looking like a ghost.”

Tch. Portrait spy network wasn’t being very good, now, was it? Used by everyone and everything. At least, though, Jay was sufficiently distracting me from my real worry by forcing me to come up with something to hide it well. Disguise a little, I guess; it’s hard to lie to these boys’ faces, after all.

“Something with my family came up, not that any of them know about it. Had to take care of it.”

Jay gave me a shrewd look. “You mean you’re still taking care of it.”

I huffed out a laugh, accepting the flask pressed into my hands — corked once again — and rewriting our names onto it with my lovely, curling, slightly-less-acceptable-than-Percy’s handwriting. Jay liked forcing me to do the writing when he could. He was probably the only one of us who thought paperwork was actually quite fun and relaxing, the crazy boy.

“You caught me.” I said with a shrug.

Dietrich was 100% listening in on us, and he accepted another flask Jay handed to him from our cauldron and nudged it into my shoulder that I started absently writing ‘Dietrich Bastion’ and ‘Tristan Harper’ into that one, too. He remained quiet, though, letting Jay handle the speaking for once.

“If it’s family, I suppose we can’t really ask for you to say.” Jay said sadly, “Family matters are private.”

Dietrich snorted. “Lys’ less so than others.”

Jay put on that scolding look of his. “If Lys doesn’t want to talk about it…”

My Second raised a brow. “I’m not going to force an issue.” He turned to me. “But we will help if you find yourself in need of it, of course, _regina._ ”

The fear and dread plaguing me all day, making a home in that empty hole in my gut, was abated by a bit of fond warmth. I smiled at both of them. “Which I appreciate, really. If things get particularly troublesome, I’ll find you.”

“Particularly troublesome, she says,” Dietrich scoffs, leaning across — to his disgust, I’m sure by the grimace — Nate, who was distracted with snobby insults with Flint and Rosier, and grabbing the flask of putrid blue goop out of Lu’s confused hands. He Vanished the contents, _Scourgify_ ’ed it, and started filling it with my and Jay’s potion. “Writes to a soul-stealer for months on end and only looks for help after it’s half-ensnared her. Meets with a half-demon alone in the summer and asks for help on how to _not die,_ _after._ ”

“Careful, Dietrich,” Jay said, amused, “You have very pale hair, but I’m sure if you stress any more, I’ll be seeing the grey ones soon enough.”

“If you were Lys’ Second, Julius, I think you would have a very silver braid by now.”

“Why is it, if you’re not giving me inspiring speeches, you’re either making fun of me with the others or you’re speaking in a language everyone refuses to teach me?” I said, writing ‘Lucas Vaisey’ and ‘Nathaniel Wilkes’ onto the new flask that Dietrich shoved at me.

“Oh, Lyssie. Dietrich needs _some sort_ of way to one-up you. Otherwise you’ll run us all over and get yourself killed challenging everyone to duels.” Jay sighed.

I sighed dramatically, standing and holding all three flasks. Snape’s desk was clear, meaning it was alright to turn ours in. “You used to be my favorite, Jay.”

“We all know I am your favorite.” Dietrich snarked.

“I hate both of you, Ginny’s my favorite.” I called loftily.

“I bloody well better be, Lyssie.” Ginny called from across the room with a cheeky grin.

“Ten points from Gryffindor for language and driving your classmates to distraction.”

Ginny twitched, and I could hear the _The bloody hell do you mean, you git, Lyssie’s turning in her potions right now!_ but I’d schooled my hot-tempered sister in keeping her tongue around my Head of House. (Though... maybe I offset that with the language thing, because my poor Ginny was rapidly picking up on the fact that I was comfortable cussing, which I was more open to show since I was finally old enough.) The Gryffindors muttered mutinously, and eyes were on me as I walked to and from the desk with obviously _three_ assignments, but what else was new? Poor Gryffies.

I started forging the others’ signatures on the assignment sheet, logging the assignment absentmindedly. My mind returned to the cause of the first flask’s shattering. What the actually bloody FUCK was I going to do, since it was _entirely likely_ that the little shit knew about my Sight? More specifically, the fact that I was a pretty strong Clairvoyant — not on the level of Septimus Weasley, I realize this now, but still.

I was probably the only one in western Europe.

You know what that meant? _Asset._ Ministry or Death Eater, they would want my ability, they would want to control it, and if that didn’t work, they wouldn’t want _me_ — bloodtraitor, Muggle-loving father, rising political opponent, opinionated, leader of a group of purebloods with connections — to have such a power. I wasn’t sure about the Ministry, but I’m sure Voldemort would fucking just… kill me off.

Death wasn’t all that scary, but death meant I wouldn’t be able to protect my boys or my brothers and sister, or Luna, or my parents, or _Harry_ , and that was unacceptable. In fact, until this entire fucking Blood War was over, death within the me and mine category was absolutely banned.

_Pettigrew knows,_ a voice murmured in my head, _Black wanted to kill him. It’s safer that way._

_But Harry- And Black. Harry won’t get a home and Sirius Black will be a criminal forever._

_They did okay before, didn’t they? You, on the other hand, will die._

_Yes, but this isn’t the before. Can I trust anything, with how different this world is? Not just because of me, but the other Clairvoyants before me who have somehow managed to fuck everything up. I can’t trust my knowledge, and I don’t want to subject Harry and Sirius to misery._

_Their fleeting suffering isn’t equal to your death._

Fuck. Conversations with myself never helped this stupid shit, I swear. Only made things worse.

When I sat back down, carefully hiding my turmoil behind Occlumency barriers, Jay had switched seats with Nate — to Dietrich’s irritation, Lu’s chagrin (How. _How_ did Lu make that much of a mess while also provoking Flint and Rosier to a sneer fest? Nate, probably.) and my surprise. Nate was thumbing through my fake _Monster Book of Monsters_ and humming to himself. Dietrich was apoplectic, for him, which meant his poker face had lowered itself into showing a faint crease of the brow.

I could see it. Nate reached into my bag for it, pissing Dietrich off with the invasion of privacy and the fact that Nate was keyed into my low-level wards. Dietrich hissed something, Nate laughed back, and then I’d shown up.

Cats and bloody dogs.

“If I say you’re _both_ pretty will you stop clawing at each other?” I asked innocently.

“But I’m the prettiest, aren’t I?” Nate asked, batting his eyelashes.

“Demented way of flirting.” I reminded him, sitting down primly and leaning over to look at my book, which seemed to have somehow been adopted by Nate, too.

Dietrich made an odd, choked noise. “Flirting?”

Because I was a merciful person, I cut off the mischievous glint in Nate’s eye and Dietrich’s rising temper with a wave of my hand. “For the sake of my sanity, Dietrich would you please help Jay convince Harper what a bad idea it is to add fairy dust and ground pixie claws and salamander eggshells together?”

I snorted when he paled and whipped right around, starting to snarl rapid French to a very contrite Harper and sniggering Lu, sandwiching an exasperated Jay trying to talk Flint and Rosier down from their irritation. Nate huffed a little laugh, then tapped his wand on one of our half-done pages — we were just about a thirty-second fraction into the book, because I was _incompetent_ and Nate was a perfectionist _nag_ — to let my odd annotation/extension charm roll out our notes.

“You really should patent this spell,” Nate said, grinning over the many, many cusses I’d scribbled into the translation notes, “Might as well get some money of it.”

“Maybe I’ll write to Dad, ask what he thinks. He helped make it.” I muttered, trying to find our place — Had Helvynya Prevett described this particular aunt before? She was being called a different title for some reason…

“Family trouble, Lys?” Nate asked lightly.

But not lightly enough to fool me. I looked up, squinted, flicked my Mage Sight on. Nate’s dark reds seemed fine, though there was just a hint of shakiness. Just a very slight worry for me, I suppose; almost made me want to smile.

“Nothing too bad,” I lied guiltlessly, “Just something I need to take care of before the end of the year. Some annoyances that need to disappear, that is.”

Nate’s smile was quite frightening. “Oh? And who are we disappearing?”

“Don’t be nosy, I’ll handle it.”

“Is it more ‘Claws? I love messing with ‘Claws. They always think so _logically,_ they get so flustered when you deviate from the norm.”

“And you are nothing less than a deviant of the worst kind.”

“Oh, Lyssie, I’m _blushing._ ”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s fine, Nate. You’re all so fussy. Though I guess in your case, you just want to have free reign to piss someone off or make more first-years cry.”

Nate shrugged. “It’s what I do best, I think.” Then he side-eyed me, expression still playful but not as careless. “Nothing too bad, hm? You dropped Fizzing Potion on your shoes. Your _only pair_ of shoes.”

“Well, this just means I get to ask the House Elves to look through the lost and found for me, don’t I?”

“Disgusting. Actually.” Nate wrinkled his nose, because he was a _snob._ Then he put on his normal smug expression again, recovering admirably fast. “Well, if you’re going to keep your silence, I guess the only thing I can do is distract you. I did translate something that will lift your spirits, here, on this page…”

I gave him a dirty look. “You _know_ I hate it when you go ahead to random pages and just pick out interesting words. It gets all disorganized.”

Nate dismissed me with a chuckle. “No, look. Fifteen- No, _Nineteen_ more pages, and she goes on a little monologue about memory and her experiments later. See this? She actually finally mentions an Occlumencic and Legilimencic technique.”

I peered over.

Nate grinned at me. The boy really _liked_ history and translation, got all childish and pleased when we were working on my disguised _Sollertia Augurium._ This book was probably the only reason I’d bonded with him so quickly, to be honest.

“Look. See that? Offensive Warding Envisioned through the Use of the Skill of Legilimency.”

My friend went on to talk about researching in the library for such a thing, about how little he found and how disgustingly Light and Grey the library was, even the Restricted Section, but I skipped ahead into his translation notes. My breath caught when I saw the next few lines, and Nate was surprised to silence when I clutched at his shoulder.

_Memory Wards within the Control of the Legilimens — Complete Lock untoward a Memory of the Castor’s Choice — to Unlock such a Technique without the Permission of the Castor or the Key Words, the Affected Mind will Break and such Memory be rendered Unretrievable._

Memory wards.

“Lys?” Nate asked, sounding confused for once.

I’m sure the manic smile spreading across my face actually alarmed him. He had a raised brow when I met his eyes and grinned. “Nate, I could literally kiss you.”

“Oh, please do. I want to see what sort of face our dear Second will make.”

I snorted and pushed his face away playfully, calling him a git or something. A git I was extremely grateful to, because I had _many ideas._ Nate and I chatted for a while, though my mind remained on _Sollertia Augurium_. Sure, I hadn’t gotten this far into the book to actually get to the techniques, but who had read the book already?

Sirius Black.

_Look at that,_ said that same voice in my head, _you get everything you want._

_Lucky,_ I agreed.

_This just means you’re going to pay for it tenfold, you know._

I decided to ignore my mounting suspicion towards good fortune. I’d take what I could get.

 

 

**…**

 

Sirius Black met me in the Shrieking Shack that night, looking a bit bedraggled, but pleasantly surprised when I set down a platter of food from Tilly — the dear Elf had no idea my dog was actually an Azkaban escapee, but I’m sure she was suspicious about _something_ — and the Mind Eater’s book, opened to Nate’s translation.

The vicious smile on his face was a mirror of mine. I had a feeling this was the start of a beautiful friendship.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated in loving memory of my old computer, who is now in whatever lovely afterlife there is for computers. RIP my fantastic friend, and thank you for helping me write 30.5 chapters of this insane fanfiction. :')
> 
> Okay. So. I don't really like this chapter, since it's largely filler (blech D:), but it's important to establish some stuff. Namely: where Lyssie is in canon. I've been writing the next few chapters and they're MUCH more interesting, and tbh this one is a real zombie with nearly half of it being from a very old draft, but it works to establish the above, thus. Well. :D
> 
> ALSO! I've been noticing that I don't really describe scenery anymore. Which bothers me. :P So I'm gonna try to be better on that, set scenes more firmly, and start wrapping the year up. (HAHA I say that and here's a filler chapter for you. :'D ) Anyways. Please enjoy!

 

 

**…**

 

Here was the thing: Sirius Black was crazy as fuck.

Here was the other thing: He was the only one I knew of who’d read _Sollertia Augurium_ , retained and knew the techniques in its later half, and was perfectly willing to perform said techniques — which were created and conceived largely by _graphic torture_ and Prevett’s own special brand of insane genius — and teach such to a twelve-year-old.

Ah, another thing: He didn’t retain it perfectly, so he had to remember it, and what was hard for a man exposed to dementor influence and isolated for more than a decade? Remember things like Renaissance-age, unpracticed, theoretical Legilimencic techniques well enough to perform.

Oh, and here was the last thing: He was likely not mentally balanced enough to perform a Memory Lock on Pettigrew by himself, meaning either I had to do it or we were going to have to kill the fucking rat. 

(Or we’d have to ask a Legilimens to do it, but I had high, _high_ doubts that Alby would be impressed with my possessing _Sollertia Augurium,_ with my harboring a criminal, or with any of the other shit I was sure he’d ask to see if he knew about either of the above… 

Alby was lenient, but the man had _limits,_ and me going against direct orders _not_ to mess with Helvynya Prevett was a one-way ticket to, “Lys, as much as I like you, I’m afraid I’m going to have to see what other things you’re hiding from me — something of this caliber cannot be the last.” or some bullshit, meaning… secrets would be getting out. Cambion. Tom Riddle. Canon Harry Potter. _Reincarnation._

Ah, and Snape would actually expel me before doing something of this calibre for partly Sirius Black’s sake.

Yeah, nope, that avenue was _closed._ Thank you, Sirius Black, for being too crazy and bitter to realize we should just ask Alby. Or maybe he didn’t know Alby was a Legilimens? Eh.)

Anyways, all these _Things_ led to late-night adventures in the Shrieking Shack trying to figure out Legilimency quick enough that I’d at least be able to _enter a mind_ to perform the hazily-remembered Memory Lock technique, and _a lot_ of translation of _Sollertia Augurium_ with Nate.

Nate was a precious child who deserved everything in the world, of course, because the boy did not even _question_ my sudden obsession with the Memory Lock technique part of the book. He just helped out with a knowing smirk, as he always did, only giving a soft, “Do explain one day, won’t you, Lys?” before he did. 

(I’d asked, “You’re not going to demand answers? Explanations? Trust?”

Which Nate laughed and replied, “My _regina,_ that you are asking for help at all is all the trust I need. And you have _my_ trust that you’ll explain one day, because you’ve infected me with your particular brand of sentimental stupidity, to my detriment. Why? Did you think I needed hand-holding just because I have never had such affectionate friends before? I’m not _Dietrich_ , you know, Lys.”)

(Git.)

Sirius Black looked much better than he did a week ago. Mundanely speaking, that was impossible. 

But one should never underestimate the potions of Professor Snape, retrieved by a suspicious-but-trustingly-helpful Tilly, along with all of Tilly’s food and my continued presence in Black’s hideout. The small drawing room of the Shrieking Shack, nestled way in the back of the first floor, had been cleared of its layers of dust and raggedy furniture. Old claw marks and scars in the floorboards and wallpaper couldn’t be removed, but I’d stolen a fluffy rug from what I assume is the Room of Requirement’s lost and found area — never got near the place, Dagby and Effas fetched all my lost and found things, thank Merlin for them and their enthusiasm to help — and a few pillows. It made for a very odd scene:

Sirius Black, cross-legged, starting to evolve from skeleton to anorexic, wolfing down warm bread dipped in tomato soup. A little medical box on the side, empty potions bottles collecting near it. Blood stained tissues in a pile, from when my headaches and magical exhaustion creeped in too close. Books stolen from the library on Legilimency and Occlumencic learning streamlining. A mound of goddamn chocolate in the corner by the unusable fireplace. Candles floating all over the place, thick cloth boarded all over the room so no one would see and I didn’t have to keep casting wards.

“I could cast... I can borrow. Your wand, that is. Cast the wards,” Sirius Black pointed out.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” I reprimanded absently, thumbing through some of Nate’s translations from today in between classes.

He man cracked a smile, swallowing his food. “You’re just… like your Mum. Molly.”

I raised a brow in his direction. “I’ll take that like the compliment it is.”

He scarfed down his food in response. Good. The damn mutt had to eat.

I sighed. Every night for the past week, I’d snuck out to get a bit of Legilimency practice and to help Sirius out. We had three avenues possible for the Rat Catch: Sirius does the Memory Lock, _I_ do the Memory Lock, or Something Bad. It was a race against time, basically; whichever came first, me mastering Legilimency enough to do this once or Sirius’ mind recovering enough to do this once, we’d go with it. Not the most artful of plans, but the only one we agreed to have.

“Molly…” he muttered.

There were warning bells ringing in my head.

“Molly… Red hair, very cheerful, she was…” His voice was getting quieter, more garbled. I looked up sharply.

Oh dear.

“Red, red, red… Lily-flower? Sorry. I know, I know, I- I- I’m sorry, Jamie, I don’t know how to- How does one even hold a baby? Green-eyes, you got the short end of the stick, Moony would’ve been better, your parents flipped a coin, you know… Flipped a coin, chance, Choice, _Uncle Sevens_ I don’t want to read the book-”

Fuck, he lost his head again. I Summoned a bar from our masses of chocolate, peeled it open, walked slowly but obviously over to Sirius. He was staring into space, a smile fixed on his face, hands clenching and unclenching. The dementors were close to Hogwarts and Hogsmeade borders, but they tended to keep away if possible — Alby’s wards kicked their asses. It wasn’t so bad in here, but even the slightest thought of, ‘Oh, it’s a little cold’ could lead to Sirius’ body and mind triggering, going back to Azkaban even if the misery-inducing magic wasn’t here.

Essentially: Sirius’ mind jumped from memory to memory, he reacted like they were all bad but desperately tried to remember the good, fluctuated between happiness and despair and horror because of it, pseudo-dementor’ed himself… All of this, rolled into one head.

This was why I was here every night, feeding him and working with him on Occlumency barriers. The Occlumency would just _barely_ keep his mind together, a patch-up job of his _brain_ one could say, but that’s all we needed at this point. Something to float us through the Memory Lock. After the rat was caught, hopefully things would fall into place. Hopefully.

“Easy, Sirius,” I said gently, pressing the chocolate into his slack fingers, “Eat that, yeah? You’re not there anymore. No Azkaban here. No dark, no rain and sea, none of those cloaked fucks. Just candles and this rug I got from Dagby and me. Guinevere Weasley, remember? Septimus Weasley told you to find me.”

Speak enough truth, he’ll come into it. Give enough logic, he’ll get his emotions under control. Eat a bit of chocolate, remember that it’s not cold here, and he’ll pull himself through. Sirius Black was, in the end, the most tenacious son of a bitch I’ve ever met.

His eyes unclouded, focused as the sweet melted in his mouth. He blinked, looking a bit disoriented, then found my eyes. His shoulders slumped with something I might call shame, though I refused to do much Soothsaying out here, where the dementor’s chill brushed against our raggedly walls.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

“Oh, hush.” I said, rolling my eyes and feeling a little bad he was so embarrassed; it must’ve been tough, to be a grown-ass man depending on a twelve-year-old stranger to get one through PTSD flashbacks. “I’m happy to help. Not happy enough to forget my head feels like it's trying to cannibalize itself with strain, but happy enough.”

Thank Merlin, the man cracked a smile. It was important, I think, for him to try to find happiness — even as small as laughing as dumb jokes — in the present, so his mind would anchor _there_ instead of past pains or past happy memories. Sirius Black just needed a bit of structure, and if I could start him off with structuring his sense of _time_ , then at least he’d have that.

“Headaches from- from both the Seer visions _and_ the Legilimency?” he croaked.

“Seer headaches are things I’m used to. Legilimency headaches hurt all the way down to my _neck_ , it’s ridiculous.”

“You want to practice a little? I feel… better. A bit better.”

Because, hi, it was dangerous to traipse into the mind of an _insane person._ Sirius Black had to be very, very good at Occlumency and direct me towards those safer bits of his head for me to practice. It was such a broken little project we had going here: me, with my natural inclination towards Legilimency thanks to my Dark core and my past experiences being taught Occlumency by Dad, and Sirius with his half-remembered Occlumency and my own coachings — based off the cambion’s words of wisdom — to pull him through.

We were both messes, my god.

“Are you sure, Black?”

“I’ll kick you out as soon as the fog comes on,” he promised.

I grimaced. “That’s what causes half the headache, you know.”

He looked apologetic. “Needs and means, Weasley.”

I sat down in front of him, resting on my knees comfortably. Eye-contact was necessary for Occlumency and Legilimency practice. So was trust, but Sirius and I were at an odd point in our lives where we didn’t quite know each other, but we trusted each other to want the same thing: Pettigrew’s incarceration, his subsequent lack of memories on me, and a happy ending to all this.

“You should call me Guinevere, Black. We’ve been jumping around each other’s heads for a week, now.”

“Feels longer,” he muttered.

“Well, mental time and whatnot.”

“Guinevere…” He trailed off. I was going to hit him if he thanked me again. Instead, he grinned a bit. “I thought you were called something else.”

“Lys, for my middle name, Lysandra. As in, Cedrella Black’s mother.” I smiled a little. “Something tells me this was all fated.”

Sirius Black smiled. “You would know, Miss Guinevere.”

Both of us came away with massive headaches and grimaces. I snuck back to the dorms at around two in the morning, exhausted and wondering if that hadn’t been a bit more seamless than last Legilimency attempt. Next time might be even better… I mean, Dad learned Occlumency _and_ Legilimency in _four fucking months_. What was it, almost February? I could learn a bit of crappy Legilimency in three, couldn’t I? 

 

**…**

 

There was a dull throbbing behind my eyes and temples. I scrunched struggled not to wince — just furrowing my brow a little made the pain spike, sharpen into ringing, and it only faded when I breathed evenly and stayed very, very still. My sternum was radiating pain, too. My muscles tightened in waves from my chest, up my neck, to my head. That must’ve been part of the headache, on top of the slight magical exhaustion. 

I curled up a bit more under the comforter, gritting my teeth together as a new wave of pain came through. It was warm and nice in here, my little black cocoon, but I knew I had to crawl out some time, face the day.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

Were I any less dignified, I would’ve whimpered. Unfortunately, it was 100% another Slytherin — likely of my _potesta_ — so there was no way I could be anything less than as dignified as possible.

I unburied myself from the comforter-pillow-quilt burrito I’d built around myself, relaxing at the fresh air but wincing at the faint light emitted from the lake-windows. Should’ve closed the curtains last night, dammit.

“Who is it?” I called.

The voice was muffled by the wards and door, high-pitched the way a firstie’s is. “Erm… It’s Adaline Mercer, _regina._ ”

I wanted to groan. _Regina_ was such a formal title… It was always said respectfully, hence why I’d never heard anyone calling Malfoy _rex_ ever, and only used in rare moments when _potesta_ business was about. _Regina_ meant I _had_ to get out of bed because something serious had come up.

“Give me a moment to take the wards down, Mercer,” I said, crawling from my blankets and hating myself for doing it.

I nearly slammed into my bedside table, fumbling for my wand and grimacing at the pull of thin magic — three hours’ sleep did not a magical core refuel — as I organized and cleaned. I tidied my books and journals, letting the slot into the low bookshelves underneath the twin windows, curtains open to the faint green lake-light, and struggled to get my clothes to fold themselves into the wardrobe in the corner… Yeah, giving up on that. They’d have to just be shrunk to fit for a while, which I did with a sigh, shutting the drawers and then turning to the desk across my messy bed…

Nope. Both of those could be messy. I’d just woken up and had been working on _Sollertia Augurium_ nearly all night, all scholarly-like, Mercer would shut up about any mess if she knew what was good for her.

My wards were taken down and I cracked the door a bit.

“You know to be discrete, Mercer,” I stated, nodding and allowing her in.

It was a dignified move — the nod and opening the door politely — and a dignified room — shades of greens and greys, sort of like a succulent but more fancy European than that — but I was dressed in rolled-up sweats and one of Fred’s old T-shirts. His ‘At least there aren’t two of me!’ graphic design one that he’d went absolutely ballistic over when he was ten and Dad took him and George to work with him in London.

Mercer, bless her heart, simply seated herself on my thankfully-clear bedroom bench primly, acting very much as if it was a privilege to be in here.

Which… maybe it was? I didn’t have roommates, was the only person in the school who didn’t — which I think was a deliberate move on Alby’s part, to hide my Occlumencic meditation and Clairvoyance more easily — and I warded everything. My private life was spread amongst the first circle, that was an extremely exclusive but envied gathering. Slytherins didn’t know my brothers and sister, only knew me as their _regina_ …

Haha, yeah. Mercer was inwardly freaking out, wasn’t she?

“Apologies for my appearance,” I said with a faint smile, plopping down on my desk’s seat and bearing the new throbbing in my temple, “I thought I’d sent a note to Dietrich that I wasn’t attending classes or holding court today, so I just woke up.”

The slip of a girl twisted the end of her uniform vest in her brown fingers; she was pulling that Harper puppy-face, all wide eyes and biting her lower lip, only her coils of hair were drawn back neatly and her eyes were brown.

“I’m sorry to bother you, _regina._ ” she whispered.

I raised a brow. Didn’t sound like Dietrich sent her, then. I resisted the urge to lean forward; might scare the poor firstie away. “Are you alright, Mercer? Is something wrong?”

Mercer’s eyes were darting all around the room, quick and subtle; she was studying the place while also giving me news. Good girl.

“There’s… Bastion got the news through the circles, that you weren’t to be bothered, but… down in the common room, Bole’s challenging you an-and Derrick’s backing him. They- Both of them are criticizing your rule and the Head Girl’s… Lucas Vaisey was going to duel but his brother held him back, then- Wilkes somehow managed to curse some of the fifth years, and Harper did something with an explosion on Bole’s bag…”

I twitched.

Mercer caught the movement and flinched. “I’m really, very sorry, _regina_ , but neither you or the Head Girl are down there, and Zabini said his cousin is working on Head Girl and seventh year business so she can’t be bothered, but…”

I winced inwardly for Mercer’s sake. If I were Malfoy, I’d read that as, ‘but you were lazing about in your room so I came to get you’ and would consequently be extremely offended. I knew my _potesta_ better, though. Adaline Mercer was a shy girl with quick eyes, growing into her House — much better under my influence — but she was good-hearted for the most part. Josephine was busy with _magnus_ stuff, getting ready for real world things. That work was more important than the temporary state of my health, probably, is what Mercer thought.

Well. I’d written Josephine a _Nuntiam_ at the same time as Dietrich, so she was supposed to take care of this. Guess I wouldn’t be giving her that concession on the the Cornfoot-Chambers mentoring contract that was just about to go through. And she’d owe me.

I nodded. “Alright. Go on back, I’ll be there shortly.”

Mercer nodded, standing and readying to go.

“ _Parvus_ -” I stopped her as she had the door open. She looked back inquisitively. “Name a few prices, would you, at some point later? We’ll haggle about it, but you’ve been helping my circle out quite a bit. I appreciate it.”

The girl schooled her wide-eyed shock admirably quickly, then nodded. “In a few days, Miss Weasley.”

She left.

I sighed, starting to put on jeans and somewhat-nice shirts. My head was aching and my magic was whining at me, singing its exhaustion. My exhaustion slowly built into irritation as I flicked more cleaning spells at my things, warded my desk up, righted things before I went. The idiocy of Bole and Derrick… And my boys! What were they thinking, reacting so aggressively without the backing of a _potesta_ leader? Lu probably lost his temper again, Harper probably thought it’d be funny, and Nate just wanted to fight. Jay would be too hesitant to stop them, Dietrich too flustered-

Bloody idiots, all of them.

And my head was pounding, still- Honestly, _fuck Legilimency_. Also, fuck you Sirius Black, for these decidedly torturous four nights of crash-course Legilimency training. Also, fuck Helvynya Prevett for making her shit so difficult to translate into proper English.

But most of all, _fuck Bole and Derrick_ because I had Important Shit to do and they were being distracting and obnoxious.

“You’re all going to owe me _so much_ Headache Relief,” I growled to myself.

(Poor scholarship o mine didn’t cover as much as I needed. I’m relatively sure Alby chipped in with the Nutrient and Iron Supplements. Wouldn’t ask, it would be a little embarrassing if I was proven right, but still. Headache Relief was only provided once a week, for meditation accidents…)

My magic was low, but my core was purring with contentment as I flared it out when I left, looking as irritated on the outside as I was inwardly. A passing third-year — Basilia Carrow, I think, a rather weedy looking thing that reminded me of my mental picture of Petunia Dursley — jumped when I turned a corner, stilling and shrinking back as I passed; like a prey-creature waiting for a predator to walk past. Fitting imagery, because I was ready to sink my claws into goddamn Lucian Bole and Peregrine Derrick, and maybe slap my boys around a bit, too.

I loved them, I did, but _why._

 

**…**

 

“I’d like to point out that this is kidnapping.”

I never thought I’d see Harry Potter, Lu, _and_ Harper roll their eyes. At _me._

“This isn’t kidnapping, Lyssie. This is an- an intervention!” Harper said brightly.

Lu nodded in agreement. “You haven’t been sleeping.”

I frowned. “Why would playing Quidditch help with that? Shouldn't I be sleeping in that case?”

Lu gave me a flat look. “Would you really sleep if we told you to?”

I huffed. “Well I’m not going to sleeping on one of your _flying deathtraps_ , so.”

“Have you got something against brooms, Lys?” Harry questioned, looking a bit lost.

“I have many things against flying. Because I’ll fall. And then die.”

“Huh, you _are_ stressed. You never snap at Potter, Lyssie!” Harper commented, looking wide-eyed.

The three of them were lined up in front of me, my boys with Harry in between them, brooms on their shoulders. We were standing on the Quidditch field — it was odd, seeing the place in the bright afternoon sunlight, rather than nighttime like I usually see it in — where the stands were empty of a crowd, only reserve Quidditch players and little figures zooming around above us. Most of them were friends of Lu and Harper or my brothers. 

One minute I was going over schedules and profiles for firsties, the next, Lu and Harper dragged me outside and everyone was on the pitch, waiting for me. Harry had, apparently, asked if they’d like to play a bit of Quidditch since he’d finally gotten his Firebolt back and he couldn't wait until the practice tomorrow or the game on Saturday to actually use it — and then Ron wanted in, and then the twins wanted in too, and then a Hufflepuff, and a Ravenclaw, and now there was just a bunch of us out here. It was still nice weather, for very early February, and I liked watching Lu and Harper fly, so I decided to leave my delicate work for a moment, and allow myself to be kidnapped.

And, really, I was _tired._ If I wasn’t holed up with Nate, partnering with him in every class to blast through the chapter on Memory Locks in _Sollertia Augurium_ , then I was running around with Jay and Dietrich trying to keep the _potesta_ together. Harper and Lu had their tutoring put on hold so they were bored and restless, my family was worried about the bags under my eyes — the likes of which they hadn’t seen since I’d first begun to adjust to Clairvoyance nightmares — and even _Luna_ was telling me, in her own unique way, that maybe I ought to sleep.

Yeah, I wasn’t opposed to being kidnapped. Even for Quidditch.

Harry sighed, running his hands through his hair. Made it messier than it already was. “I can’t believe you don’t like flying.”

“I told you I didn’t, didn’t I? And Hermione doesn’t like flying! It’s not rare!”

Lu shook his head as Harry’s flabbergasted look, sympathetic. He gave Harry’s shoulder a pat, a rare show of solidarity with someone outside of the first circle, from him. “I’ve been trying to get her to play Quidditch for  _forever_ , Potter,” sighed Lu.

Harper sighed, too. “Lyssie’s really smart, so we thought she’d be a really fun opponent. But she barely went up in the air for flying lessons, and when we tried to play with her last year, the broom went mad.”

Lu scowled at the reminder. “That broom was rubbish. I hope it’s food for the bowtruckles now.”

Harry gave Lu an odd look. “You chucked one of your brooms in the Forest?”

Harper laughed. “It was a school broom!”

“The bloody thing almost killed Lyssie! Of course I chucked it in the Forest!”

I smirked, though I really felt amusedly affectionate when I remembered it. Overprotective idiots, my boys. I shook my head. “Harry, physical activity is just bad with me. You know? Anaemia and asthma?”

Harry frowned. “Flying’s not that difficult, though. Maybe Quidditch, but I can’t believe you don’t like flying. Out of everyone, I feel like you’d like it the most.”

“You’re never going to convince her, Potter,” Lu said, shaking his head and starting to walk off, dragging Harper with him, “C’mon, Harper. They’re probably starting up the team divisions.”

Harry called out, “Don’t count me in.”

Harper’s blue eyes widened. “But you’re the best Seeker in the school! We wanted you on our team!”

“Call him in, I’m going to join Dietrich, Nate, and Jay in the stands,” I said, shrugging.

“Don’t call me in, Harper, please?” Harry argued, giving me a challenging look.

Harper, unable to turn down polite requests from people he liked, pouted and nodded. “Next game, you’re with our team, right, Harry?”

“Sure, Harper.”

“Ergh, _hurry up_ , you _girls,_ ” Lu groaned, already mounted on his broom and hovering around us.

I rolled my eyes and Harper took to the air, waving goodbye cheerfully.

“C’mon, Lys, what’s wrong with flying?” Harry asked insistently.

I grabbed his sleeve and started towards the side of the field, so no Bludgers or rogue Beaters smashed into us accidentally. Percy was on the other side of the pitch, acting as referee — just like at the Burrow, at the behest of the whining demon twins — and Lee Jordan was commentating with a _Sonorus_ rather than a magical microphone. I think Hooch was in the stands, as she was supervising our impromptu inter-House flying session.

I gave Harry a crooked smile. “Why’re you so set on me flying? You set this up, right?”

Harry frowned and shrugged. “Me and Harper and Vaisey, yeah. And… Er… I dunno. I just… With Ron and your brothers all into Quidditch, I thought you’d be, too. You’d like flying, Lys. It’s relaxing up there.”

“Or you’re pouting because I have a Seeker’s build and you want a challenge.”

His cheeks pinked. “Maybe.”

I laughed, and patted him on the head. (His wild hair was actually quite soft.) “Ask Ginny. She hasn’t told our brothers, but she likes flying. Chaser or Seeker, she practices for those positions when she can sneak about at home.”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t think she’d want to fly against me.”

I blinked. Then I snorted. “Right, she’d probably be too shy of you to beat you.” I looked up thoughtfully. “Maybe I can order Malfoy to go against you? I _am_ the _parvus potesta_ leader, I have the right to strongly suggest it.”

He laughed. “I can’t believe you actually dueled him. Wish I could’ve seen him when you beat him, must’ve been hilarious. But… Ergh, no, I’d rather not be around the git longer than I should. Might catch.”

“You couldn’t be a git if you tried, Potter,” I snorted, eyes drawn to the fliers above.

Lee Jordan was having a hell of a time, since there was no McGonagall to force him to be nice. However, I noted — surprised — that Dietrich seemed to take it upon himself to snark at Lee Jordan’s cheerful barbs (attempting to force him back to neutrality, in vain, of course), and Jay was in the background trying to make them stop arguing. Nate was around there, too, though he was probably having a hell of a time, provoking one or the other just to perpetuate the argument. Kid loved doing that shit.

(That was… good. They all needed a break. We all did. I wondered if Sirius was in his Grimm form, lurking around somewhere and watching.)

It was a huge mass of people who just liked flying, even if they weren’t on Quidditch teams, and I was tempted to suggest trying to do a three-way game with all the students in the stands, having been told they’d go in the second wave. This was a rare occasion, though, because usually the pitch was scheduled for practices or games. I suppose Lu and Harper used my name to claim the field, though, and maybe that was better, because I’d never seen this many Houses interact (mostly) peacefully outside of year-groups, in class.

(Wasn’t that a little odd? I’d need to organize more of these, if only for networking’s sake.)

Harry suddenly spoke. “Oh. Lys, are you afraid of heights?”

I blinked. “Hm? No, I don’t think so. I just… I don’t trust myself to keep up in the air, if a dizzy spell hits or my weak body quits. I don’t fancy the falling part, and it’s much more likely to happen with me.”

I was suddenly the subject of narrowed, green eyes. I frowned, raising an eyebrow.

Then Harry broke out in a grin. “I’ve got an idea.”

“Potter, I don’t like that smug look you’ve got about you…”

“I’m _preparing_ to be smug, there’s a difference, Lys. And you call yourself a Slytherin?”

I rolled my eyes, opening my mouth to respond, but Harry started clambering up on his broom. I watched as he inched forward a bit more than most Quidditch players did (a lot of them liked to press themselves down to the broom, make themselves go faster with less air dragging on them) and then turn to look at me. Expectant eyes and a bright grin, which strongly reminded me of Harper when he wanted to learn how a new spell he noticed me playing around with.

“What are you doing.” I asked flatly.

“Come on, then. If you’re not the one doing the flying, it should be fine, right?”

My mind screeched to a halt. “Wait, what?”

Harry grinned. “I’ll just take you up to the stands. Just a quick flight, no risk. C’mon, Lys!”

I grimaced. “And if I fall?”

He tapped at one of his pockets, which presumably held his wand. “ _Wingardium Leviosa_. C’mon, you’ve probably been up on a broom with one of your brothers, right?”

“Er… no. Actually.”

“Come again?”

“Well, the older the broom, the less weight it’ll hold reliably,” I said succinctly, “It’s dangerous.”

“Yeah, well this is a brand new Firebolt.” I swear, his eyes were _sparkling_. Goddamn Quidditch and broom nuts. “It’s a good broom, Lys.” he insisted.

I narrowed my eyes. “I’m going to die. You’re going to drop me.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t drop you. What, don’t trust me, Lys?”

“You aren’t making a convincing argument, and I resent you for this,” I said primly, stepping forward and trying to will my magic not to give into any visions so I didn’t fall and die. “And as a matter of fact, I _do_ trust you, just not your horrible Potter Luck.”

“Well, that’s fair.” Harry muttered. Then he grinned lopsidedly. “Come on, then, Lys. Please?”

_Bloody… Bloody PUPPY EYES, dammit dammit dammit it’s not FAIR!_

“Erghhhhhh… Fine.”

Goddamn skirts. I was tempted to say ‘fuck it’ and sit normally, but there were some Slytherins in the crowd. And Dietrich or Jay or any of my boys would freak the fuck out at my lack of propriety. So I sat facing Harry’s left and twisted so my arms were wound around his waist. Harry was about as tall as Dietrich, which was a bit short for a 13-year-old, yeah, and he was built like a shorter version of Nate: thin and bony and agile.

“If you kick off and I fall, I am going to _murder_ you, Potter,” I murmured grudgingly.

Harry laughed. “Just try it out, yeah, Lys? And just up to the stands. Besides, I think you should control Bastion. I don’t know what he’s saying, but he sounds right pissed off.”

“It’s probably vile. Dietrich has the worst potty-mouth in the- GOOD GOD!”

Suddenly I was in the bloody fucking air, and my hands dug into Harry’s robes as I squeaked at the unsettling feeling. Compared to real Quidditch kick-off’s, it was a very gentle rise, but I felt unbalanced and clung to Harry for dear life, burying my face in his back and fucking _praying_ that this was over with soon.

My weight shifted as Harry guided the broom differently, and I concentrated my efforts on _not_ thinking about leaving the ground behind and possibly falling, but on Dietrich and Lee Jordan snarling at each other, Percy roaring at the twins for something or other, and the manic laughter of Oliver Wood that was decidedly not odd at all on the Quidditch pitch, which was saying something.

“Er… Lys? Lys, it’s okay, we’re barely off the ground.” Harry said.

I glared at him, though he couldn’t see it. “You’re a crazy teenager who likes diving fifty feet. I don’t believe you at all.”

“We’re _maybe_ ten feet up, promise.” Harry snickered, “And you’re balanced, though you were shifting about earlier. But you’re good now, yeah?”

_C’mon, Lyssie, you can do this,_ I told myself firmly, _You were raised by Gryffindors!_

_But I’m also a Slytherin, whose singular interest is self-preservation…_

_Bold, adventurous Gryffindor-raised! Ten feet, you can survive that much!_

_If I look, I’ll have a vision and then I’ll fall and die._

_Harry wouldn’t let that happen, idiot!_

Which was… true. Harry had a people-saving thing. And was very firmly protective of his friends, though not as crazy about it as I was. For no reason whatsoever, he went into the Chamber of bloody Secrets last year; he and I had been friendly, but he didn’t have to go save Dietrich. But he did, and in another world without Helvynya fucking Prevett, he would’ve saved my twin. So, obviously, if I happened to topple off this deathtrap, Harry would probably dive for me. Which might hurt, but I wasn’t having any visions concerning me becoming a splatter on the grass, so…

My eyes opened very slowly, and I shifted over, reluctantly bringing my face away from Harry’s back.

My first thought was, _Oh hey, this isn’t so bad at all._

And then Harry started to climb.

“Potter, I swear to GOD-

Harry only laughed, and I flailed as he slowly wound around the pitch, his hair ruffled in the wind but not bothering me because I was too small for that. My own hair was a bit irritating, but it was a small complaint compared to the bloody _ground leaving._ He wound up and up and up and kept gently laughing and giving me odd assurances as I muttered and swore and squeaked into his back, my grip on him probably suffocating (though he didn’t complain).

“I thought you were an honorary Gryff, Lys,” Harry teased, throwing me a grin.

“Eyes on front, you bloody _prick_ , thank you very much! And I’m only a Gryffindor because I was raised by ten of them, can you imagine? Ten Gryffindors and a Slytherin, it sounds like some horrible comedy show…”

“You’d think ten Gryffindors would’ve gotten you to be a bit more brave, hm?”

I narrowed my eyes at him, though he was thankfully watching where we were going and not smirking at me over his shoulder anymore. “I’m a Slytherin, and I prize self-preservation. This is entirely too high off the ground to be safe.”

Harry was still chuckling to himself. He was _enjoying_ my torment, the little bastard. “We’re going at the pace of a flobberworm, Lys. Don’t worry so much.”

“You know how I said you couldn’t be a git if you tried? I take that back. Git.”

He laughed brightly in response, entirely too entertained. “I never thought the great Lys Weasley would be afraid of flying. You duel Malfoy and basilisks but you can’t get on a broom?”

I sniffed, very indignant. “Hush, Potter. If I get annoyed enough to hex you, we’ll both be falling, and then where would we be? Bloody youngest Seeker in a century, goes and gets himself killed by a pissed off Slytherin.”

“Yeah, but you should look down.”

“I’m not falling for that.”

“Nah, Lys, really.”

“I’m- Ergh. Oh dear Merlin. Merlin, Morgana, and Mordred help me- _Why are we above the bloody stadium, Harry?”_

There’s a breathless laugh from him, one that I could feel with me clinging to him like a limpet, and then he turned. I blinked in surprise (and maybe a bit of awe) because his eyes are _dancing_ and he’s wearing such a wide grin that I was surprised it didn’t hurt.

It was the absolute happiness Harry had radiating off him, I think, that stopped my mounting panic. He seemed so _at home_ up in the air, and it made me relax enough that my arms stopped trying to break his ribs and I slid a bit away, enough to look at my own sneakers, limply hanging from my legs and the world underneath them. The ground was further away than ever, but the white noise of the Quidditch match and its spectators made me feel very not-alone, which was what I’d expect with all this _space_ around us. Dietrich and Lee Jordan were screaming at each other, Percy was joining, and I could hear Oliver Wood and Harper cackling, the crowd cheering and laughing, small splashes of color made bright by the afternoon sun. 

I felt my lips twitching to smile. “Is this why you’re always this high up during games?”

“Well, that, and it’s easier to look for the Snitch this way,” Harry replied with a shrug.

“It’s… peaceful. Up here.” I said, finally giving into that smile.

Harry grinned at me wryly. “Yeah, right? This is why I thought you’d like flying. You’re always running around doing all sorts of things. How you never collapse without something like flying, I don’t know.” 

“I meditate.”

“Not the same, I don’t think.”

I chuckled. “Yeah. It’s not.”

He flew in lazy circles, taking care not to startle me. I still tightened my hold when there was a sudden shift or a stronger breeze, but this was better than meditation. There was literally nothing up here to distract you, just the blue sky and the cheerful white noise and the feeling that you didn’t have to do anything, there were no obligations, and everything you had to worry about was frozen in time, waiting for you to breathe.

“Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.” I snickered to myself.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” I said, grinning. Then I poked at his side, which he squirmed at (but his flying was steady). “So you brought me up here because you thought I was stressed? Well, aren’t you a sweetheart, Harry.”

Harry smiled sheepishly. “Well, Ron was worried all week, saying you’ve never looked so stressed before… and then I thought about how our Patronus lessons aren’t going so well, and how you have it worse off with the dementors, with your Mage Sight, and then you’re running around leading Slytherin and with Wilkes being all suspicious and Bastion yelling at you all the time… I dunno, you looked like you needed a break, so I asked Vaisey and Harper to arrange this. Really thought you’d wanna fly it out. That’s what I do.”

Fucking adorable, this kid. That was a ‘I wanted to make you feel better so I dragged you into things I like to do’. Good god, I hope he and Ginny were happy together. Scratch that, I just hope this kid was happy in the future. If he wasn’t one of mine already, that would’ve cemented it.

(Worth it, I think. I was working this hard, getting so little sleep every night, welcoming pounding headaches into my brain… for this. To protect this sort of person, to help my friend, to defend the boy I was going to follow to war in a few years.)

(Yeah. Worth it.)

I smiled warmly. “Thanks, Harry.” Then I arched a brow. “Even if you had to pretty much blackmail me up here.”

“It wasn’t blackmail!” he protested.

“You used puppy-eyes. I banned that ages ago in Slytherin.”

“...Harper?”

I nodded. “Harper.”

Another laugh. Must’ve been the air, he was probably light-headed and giddy. Or something. Who knew how crazy-gits-who-liked-flying thought? “I can’t believe that bloke’s a Slytherin, really. So… cheery, you know?”

“You should’ve seen him before I got my claws in him,” I said with a laugh. Though I sobered, actually remembering last year. “Used to act like Parkinson, you know? Laughed at every stupid barb, did petty things, was a sycophant for his leader — Lu at the time, actually."

Harry looked surprised. “Really? I can’t even imagine… Merlin, good thing you got into Slytherin, Lys.”

I laughed into his back. “Right?”

A breeze flew by, jolting the broom, and I went rigid. The white noise and the breeze and the cool air up here was nice, but then everyone looked like little ants and I remembered how damn _high_ I was from the ground. Harry evidently saw my creeping panic.

“Er… I better take you to the stands, then. Sorry for the… kidnapping,” he muttered.

Oh, this kid. Hard to stay mad at someone who wanted the best for you so _obviously_ , really. I chuckled, pushing my bravado to the forefront and Occlumencing my nervousness away best I could. “Nah, no apologies. This was… nice. A nice break. Despite everything. Thanks, Harry.”

He chuckled. “Think you’ll be accepting Seeker’s duels, then?”

“Don’t push it, Potter.”

(Worth it. I just had to remember that, when I was clutching at my head and going cross-eyed from the effort of translation, bleeding from my nose and mouth with how strenuous Legilimency was, feeling my throat and lungs burn from too much magic usage in the night. It was _worth it._ This was to protect both of us, to protect my friends, my family, my secrets, to protect everything. Everything would fall into place as soon as the year was over.)

(I had to believe that.)


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welp. Here's a chapter for y'all as I die slowly from finals. :'D But! Good news! Once finals are done and I have legit time to write, I should be getting this fic on a proper schedule. So. There's that. :)
> 
> As always, thank you to all who follow/kudos/comment/etc. this fic -- it means a lot! -- and thanks again for being patient about the schedule conflict. :) You have no idea how much I yell at myself for not finishing up this damn arc already, good lord it's going on forever. XD I've got some baby notes at the end of the chapter, too, but they're not as pressing.
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 

**…**

 

I groaned into the couch cushion, the knitted blanket thrown over the dark leather smelling more of the sharp, perfumed Slytherin common room than of my mother’s warm, flour-covered hands now. There were Headache Relief vials — empty — scattered on the coffee table, around _Sollertia Augurium_ and all the parchment and ink Nate and I were using. Nate himself was across me, in Jay’s favorite armchair, his glasses pushed up onto his head so he could rub at his eyes. He didn’t do anything as undignified as groaning, but he looked tired.

“I hate her,” I mumbled, “Why does she invent so many technical terms? Why is her wording so fucking _weird?_ Sometimes it’s almost modern, sometimes she goes into poetic _nonsense_ , and sometimes she’s holding information back or referring to past chapters we haven’t translated…”

Nate heaved a sigh. “I wouldn’t say I read a lot of Middle English, but this is very badly done. It was originally in Italian, was it not? Whoever translated it into English didn’t seem to know what they were doing.”

I rolled over, glaring at the innocent little book of _hell._ “I’m pretty sure it’s just her writing, Nate. The c- Er- the one who sold this book to me said it’s quite true to her own pen. She was a Clairvoyant, wasn’t she? She probably saw how much we’d _suffer_ and wrote it this weirdly for the hell of it.”

Nate hummed to himself. We were both in school uniforms, but we were the messiest we’ve ever been. It was much more apparent in Nate, who usually looked pretty immaculate; his dark hair was wild with his fingers running through it so much (in frustration), glasses skewed, sleeves rolled up line mine, tie missing, normal smirk twisted into a grimace. Hours of Slytherins passing through spotted and sneered at our rumpled countenances; we looked as bad as seventh-years, really. 

And I felt like it. Hadn’t left the common room for the entire fucking Saturday, holed up in here from seven in the morning to whatever time it was now. The place emptied out a few hours past, probably to watch the second-to-last Quidditch game of the season; I’d wanted to go, to support Harry and his new Firebolt and whatnot — didn’t feel like only two days ago that he’d taken me up on his death contraption and I’d gotten to relax, felt like it’d been seven years since, honestly — but _Sollertia Augurium_ had been waiting and Nate offered…

I’d had to force Dietrich to go chaperone the loudly-complaining and very excited Lu and Harper, along with a exasperatedly tolerant Jay, because they deserved a break. And they couldn’t help anyway. And the happier two were reserve players, so Flint needed them. And a whole host of other things that I couldn’t think of at the moment.

“Sorry to keep you in all day, though,” I murmured into the blankets, scrunching my eyes shut and seeing my own handwriting and the book’s spidery text dancing across my vision, “I know you like brooms as much as me, but I really think you’re going to be blinder than you already are, at this rate. Working this hard and whatnot.”

Nate brushed my sheepish apologies away carelessly. “I’m never opposed to historical primary sources like this one.” He gave me an amused look, letting his glasses fall back onto his nose. “You _are_ setting a demanding pace, though, dear leader.”

I sighed, sitting up in my blankets properly now, smoothing the patchwork quilts. There was a burn mark on this one, from when some little fucks decided it’d be a laugh to mess with my _potesta_ seat. I didn’t even have to do anything; Dietrich and Lu made them cry. (Those two were oddly attached to our _potesta_ seat’s messy, comfy things.)

“I’m sorry,” was all I could say. I really did feel bad about it… “You don’t have to lock yourself up in the castle with me and work — I’m sure you’d rather be annoying the hell out of Dietrich or Lu or something…”

Nate rolled his eyes. “My dear Lys, if I didn’t want to help, do you really think I’d still be here?”

A smile tugged on my lips. That was very true. Nate was like a… cat. Not the fluffy, very friendly ones, but those bitch-ass diva cats that clawed you just because they liked hearing you yelp. The ones you didn’t just pet — you had to wait for them to come to you. Those were the types that didn’t do anything they didn’t want to do; Nate was exactly like that, honestly.

Similar to Tom Riddle my actual ass.

I studied Nate, who was leaning over the coffee table precariously to review our translation and fix the stray marks, the finicky little bastard. My heart wilted a little at how tired and pale he looked. Nate was an indoor night-owl, as much as I used to be in my first life, but this couldn’t be healthy. I was a damn leader, wasn’t I? Nate looked like death was warming over, and that was absolutely not allowed when it came to mine. (Better to get irritated at myself than feel guilty, I think. Anger fueled action better.)

“Nope,” I announced, standing abruptly and yanking _Sollertia Augurium_ from him decisively, “You’re going out to the game. Go annoy Dietrich and Lu. You need sunlight and inane chatter, you’re only twelve.”

“I’m thirteen,” he said, raising a _very_ judgmental brow. “ _You’re_ only twelve.”

“Go. Get.” I shooed him away. “You’re one of mine, and I won’t have mine looking like a stressed N.E.W.T. student four years too early.”

“You always look like a stressed N.E.W.T. student-” Nate began to protest.

“I’m _regina potestae parvae_ , that’s a requirement. You, my friend, are only a month into calling me Lys, and you’ve already done so much. I’m ordering you to go on a break. In fact, if you don’t go right now, I’m going to tell Harper and Lu about how you tormented those Gryffindors who were harassing them yesterday.”

He threw me a dirty look. “Traitor.”

I grinned at him. “Secret softie. Go on.”

Nate swatted me off him; I’d gotten him to stand and almost leave the couch set we favored. He straightened his rumpled robes, recovering his smug air. “Well, well, if you insist. I know when I’m not wanted.”

Rolling my eyes, I told him to tell me how the game went as he left.

I relaxed as he left, glad that he wasn’t like Dietrich or Harper, who’d insist on suffering as I did, needlessly. Nate was too Slytherin for that; he took what he could get, no matter what was going on. Lucas and Jay were a toss-up, really, but Nate was consistent in this, at least.

And with Nate gone, I could properly collapse into a pile with my blankets and pillows and squeeze my eyes shut. The Headache Relief had been used up, and I didn’t want to draw attention by asking Madam Pomfrey for more. Maybe I should get Dietrich to learn how to brew it? Snape wouldn’t mind us dipping into his stores a little, since we were being very good Slytherins and the _potesta_ was all taken care of…

I looked around lazily. I was surrounded by nice-smelling, warm blankets and pillows, my trainers abandoned on the floor along with my propriety, apparently. I estimated the game to last a few hours, which was more than enough time for me to catch a nap. My boys were taking a well-deserved break, and I would catch a bit of sleep to make this headache, creeping in quietly, back off for a little bit.

Nodding to myself, I started drawing lines in the air, vaguely around the borders of the common room — long and high-ceilinged, very basilica-like, but dungeons and gothic windows — flicking my Mage Sight on to make sure the wards were taking properly. My indigo’s electric threads wove themselves into thin films of wards, lacing together more strongly as I whispered the words under my breath. They settled inside of the golden air of Hogwarts, soft sighs compared to the rumbling hum, and my Mage Sight slipped back under the ritual-Occlumency-spell combo from _The Magick of Man-Hunters,_ revealing the dark walls and silver chandeliers and soft, green glow.

The wards were crystalized, ready. I was warm and sleepy and my headache wasn’t so bad that I couldn’t ignore it. Just until the game was over, I think. It’d be something to boast about, at least; Dietrich would be so proud that I took a nap.

 

**…**

 

Canonly, Sirius Black was supposed to have attacked Gryffindor Tower the day of the Quidditch game, which was a week or so back ago. (Lu and Harper and Harry were pretty put out I hadn’t shown up even when Nate _did_ , and I had to go to a celebratory four-House-Quidditch outing again to make up for it, though thankfully I avoided Harry cajoling me into flying again.) Of course, canonly, Sirius Black’s mental health was even crappier than it was already, and he didn’t have the grand support system that I was, so. Thankfully, he didn’t attack and traumatize my poor brother — I’m pretty sure all this pain from Legilimency and shit was my payment for that bonus — and therefore there was no increased security.

Less security equated to a lack of dementors right up on my Occlumency barriers, and that was important because I was _messing with them_ as I learned Legilimency and tried to help Sirius Black reform his own Occlumency barriers (without him losing his head to dementor-PTSD) and yeah. The cambion would be feeding well this summer, because I needed this shit fixed… I really should get on that contract-writing…

Well. Maybe after I did all the million and one things I had to do first.

The common room was filled with milling Slytherins; definitely not as rowdy as Gryffindors, but also not as quiet as Ravenclaws (the only common room I haven’t managed to get into has been Hufflepuff, actually…). Josephine was holding court, lounging around her sleek, almost spartan _potesta_ gathering area with a few of her main camp, doing homework and discreetly keeping an eye on everyone. There was a gaggle of fifth-year girls by the windows, tapping at the glass with their wands and spelling out letters as they spoke to the merpeople — something that was not as recurring as I thought it would be, but surprisingly cool, though it was an activity reserved for _magnus_ members — and I spotted Silvester Cornfoot hunched over one of the studying desks with Elena Chambers, his new _magnus_ mentor, along with Lily Moon. A lot of the mentor-mentee pairings were scattered around, which was nice to see.

I myself was trying to finish off some paperwork — there was a dispute between some first-years, reported to me by my main firstie go-to, Adaline Mercer, and I had to read the girl’s reports and figure out how to keep Nicolette Beaumont and Ariadne Lynwood from declaring a blood feud between their Houses — while Nate read _Sollertia Augurium_ and Lu, Dietrich, Jay, and Harper attempted the Patronus again. I’d gone to Lupin and Harry’s Patronus lessons yesterday night, so I opted out to catch up on work.

“Is that the Beaumont-Lynwood report?” Nate called from his place across from me.

I nodded distractedly. “Started with a prank and just snowballed from there, I think. Doesn’t help that Beaumont’s cousin, from a branch family, seems to have stolen Lynwood’s brother’s heart mysteriously quickly. Lynwood’s accusing Beaumont’s cousin of using Amortentia, Beaumont is quite attached to her cousin, she’s accusing the Lynwoods of being pansies who should be so lucky to have Veronique Beaumont in their family…”

Nate chuckled. “A regular drama. Let me guess… Lynwood’s brother is the Heir.”

I smirked a little. “Oh, yes. Creus Lynwood, you know.”

Dietrich scoffed from his place beside me, brow furrowed with effort from the Patronus. He’d gotten _maybe_ a flicker of light once so far, and was taking periodic breaks to help with paperwork. I eyed his magic rather carefully; he had the smallest core of all of us, and always had.

“Beaumont and Lynwood will calm,” he muttered, “They like to follow in their idol’s footsteps, whose dueling skills are shown off every other week. You duel too much, Lys.”

“Hah? _I’m_ their idol?”

“Just as much as Zabini is yours,” sang Nate easily, still reading his book.

Huh. Well that would imply both girls had a crush on me, so I rather doubted that.

“I’ll probably have to take both of them aside at some point — their division is stressing the other firsties, and that makes escort groups rather shaky, and I know those ‘Claws are pissed about losing last week’s game and I _know_ they’ll take it out on ours if they ca-”

“LYSSIE! LYSSIE, LOOK!”

I snapped my head to face Harper, panicked that he’d set the common room on fire, but-

A shield of white vapor.

I’m sure my gobsmacked expression was reflected in my boys’ faces and all the faces of the Slytherins lounging about the common room, because _Tristan Harper_ just successfully cast a goddamn Patronus. Not corporeal or very strong, but a flick to my Mage Sight showed his teals and turquoises and golds woven in the right pattern, behaving the way Alby’s demonstration Patronus behaved, and oh my god. Harper just cast a Patronus.

The common room was _silent._ Everyone was looking at Harper’s shield, Harper’s first success at the _Patronus_ , startled by his outburst and then quiet in amazement. 

_Harper_ just cast a _Patronus_.

His wand arm was trembling and he looked cheerfully exhausted, my chest swelled with pride. When the white part-dome fizzled out, dispersing into fading, pale mist, I was the first to move in the stunned silence. Harper was usually the one who did the tackling hugs, the excitable child, but that was my role this time; I surged up and threw my arms around him, my chest squeezing with so much fucking pride that it was ridiculous.

“Oh my god, Harper, you did it, you did- You cast a PATRONUS, Harper, do you know- Harper, that’s _amazing_ , you were the first of all of us, Harper, it’s an Auror-grade spell and _you cast it!”_ I was half-laughing.

Harper was hugging me back, giggling like mad, talking over me. “I did it, Lyssie, I did- I was- The Patronus! It’s not complete but I did it! Did you see? Did you see it? That was mine, I held it for twenty seconds, Lys, my magic did that-”

“HOLY MERLIN, HARPER YOU DID IT!” came Lu’s loud, shocked, happy voice.

Dietrich was close by, too aloof to hug, but near enough to share the celebration. “ _Je ne peux pas le croire. Bien joué mon ami.”_

“Hm… well, that was unexpected, to say the least. It seems I’ll have to actually try to cast one now…” Nate’s voice sighed, opposite side of Dietrich.

“I know you could do it, Harper,” said Jay. Because, of course, Jay was the nicest.

Harper. Harper had successfully cast a Patronus. The first of all of us. The boy with ADHD, the boy who no one had thought would ever amount to anything last year — he’d just performed one of the most complex Light spells in the country, a _twelve-year-old_. It might’ve only lasted a bit, and it might’ve been weak, and a dementor would’ve probably broken the fuck through it, but… But this was _Harper_ , my left hand, and I was so damn happy for him.

I pulled back from the hug a little, looking at Harper’s face and probably matching his grin tooth for tooth.

“I am so damn proud of you, Tristan,” I said excitedly, knowing he could hear me even as the Slytherin common room descended into loud noises and exclamations and the others were all jabbering behind me.

Harper’s grin looked even wider than it was already, which I’d thought was impossible.

“I did it,” he said, his voice oddly soft and meant just for me, “Lys, I’m- I’m just as strong as you and Dietrich, now, aren’t I? I can…” He swallowed. “I’m your left hand properly now, aren’t I?”

I hugged him hard again, burying my face in his shoulder. “You were always our equal. Don’t doubt that. What you lacked in power, you’ve always made up for it.”

“You called me Tristan,” he whispered, sounding amazed.

“Only for special occasions,” I laughed, pulling back in full this time, beaming at him. I stepped back, put my hands on my hips, raised a brow. “Now. Practice makes perfect, you know. Think you can do it again?”

Harper’s blue eyes were glittering with excitement. “Of course!”

I believed him. And by the cocky grin on Lu’s face, his arm slung around Harper’s shoulders, the wide smile on Jay’s, standing on Harper’s other side, and Dietrich’s accepting nod and Nate’s considering look at his wand, I’m sure we were all in agreement there.

There. _Sollertia Augurium_ was getting finished, I was learning Legilimency, Sirius Black was getting a bit better mentally, my  _potesta_ seemed to be doing well, and Harper had just cast a Patronus successfully for the first time. Not bad for mid-February.

 

**…**

 

“You _can_ call me Lys, you know.”

Sirius Black stared at me owlishly. He was sitting cross-legged on the rug, which was filthy because the stupid git was trekking in the mud today as a Grimm, his hands paused just as he was about to tear open the basket of food I brought him. The small drawing room was just the same as ever, though I think he cleaned up a little — the bloodstained rags for my face were gone. That was a good sign, I think? Cleaning. Organization. That stuff.

Goddammit, there was a _reason_ I didn’t become a Psych major.

(Even reading people’s cores for their emotions, even that was _guesswork._ It wasn’t _certain._ I wasn’t an Empath or an Assessor, I could only guess what patterns meant, could only know for sure that there was a change at all. And even then, I didn’t have my Mage Sight on all the time because Hogwarts — all concentrated forms of magic, really — was _blinding_.)

“Guinevere?” he asked, looking a bit dazed.

I flicked my fingers at the pile of chocolate, let a bar zoom into my fingers, shoving it right at Sirius as soon as I felt its weight in my hands. Hanging around Sirius Black’s person and mind these few weeks, I was getting good at knowing when he would get lost in his head. There would be this sort of glazed look in his eyes right before, he would start shaking, and his normally rather confident speech would shrink in on itself, become stuttered. Chocolate helped him.

He took it absently, trusting me to know he’d need it.

“Lys,” I corrected, casting a _Scourgify_ on the rug and flopping down on it bonelessly, “Also, I know why you’re friends with Lupin. You’re both bloody _slave-drivers._ ”

It was just a few days after Ron’s birthday — he was delighted at my gift, despite it being a lazy thing I’d had to ask Lu and Harper for advice for (some very lovely almanac of famous Quidditch games that I’d begged Dagby and Effas to fetch from the Room of Lost Things) — and a Thursday. To be fair, though, Lupin was just as mild-mannered and helpful as ever; I was just exhausted and sleep-deprived and frustrated, a really poor learning mate for Harry. I was getting closer to something substantial, especially with Harper’s breakthrough and me being able to watch his magic itself learn how to cast a Patronus, but still.

Lupin was a fair, but expectant teacher.

And I’d forgotten that Sirius Black and him were sort of on the outs. Being framed for the murder of two mutual friends — best friends — would really put a damper on any sort of relationship. Shit, he was going to relapse or something-

“Moony was always a slave-driver, yep,” Sirius Black laughed.

Oh. What a pleasant surprise — he was okay! Nice! This meant his Occlumency was improving! Or something else. Which would also be good, because Sirius Black not being as insane as usual was always good. I had my Occlumency to suppress instinctive fear from when he went a bit madder than usual, and I also spent quite a bit of time in his head and knew he’d never try to hurt me knowingly, but. Well. The keyword was ‘knowingly’.

I smiled encouragingly at the man. “Did he go into lecture-mode for you, too?”

“All the time,” Sirius sighed, “Always… got us out of trouble… Always- He was- He-”

Damn, he was so close. “Occlude, Sirius.”

“Er- Yes. Yes, I- Yeah. I’m okay. Just- It was a bit shaky there, but. I’m alright.”

“Chocolate?”

“No, I’m… better. I can’t depend too heavily on that stuff, you know. Besides. Chocolate would make me fat.”

I laughed as Sirius grinned at me. “You need all the fattening you can get!” I chuckled.

“Chocolate is bad for dogs, you know, Guinevere.”

“Good thing you’re magical, then. And didn’t I say? Call me Lys. Honestly, you know more secrets of mine than anyone else at this point. Which is a bit sad, because you’re literally twice my age.” I blinked to myself. “I go out almost every night, losing sleep, to meet with an old man in an abandoned shack outside of Hogwarts grounds. Dear Merlin, Dad’s going to kill me.”

Sirius barked out a laugh. “If I know Arthur Weasley, he’ll kill _me!”_ he laughed. Then he grinned at me fondly. “I appreciate it, you know. Lys. All this. Not just- Well, yes, the food and the blankets and things, but also… Occlumency. Legilimency. Pettigrew.”

I scowled at the mentioned of Pettigrew. “Oh, believe me, you don’t have to thank me for that. I would’ve taken anything less than death to deal with him. And I will. I’ve made enough Choices, you know. I’m locked into a path now; the only thing I can do is keep going, since I’ve affected too much to go back to the original path-” To canon. “-so Pettigew, one way or another, was going to be dealt with.”

Sirius had finished eating. He was just facing me now, elbows resting on his knees and hunching over them. He was still worryingly thin, but there was color to his skin and his eyes weren’t so sunken and he was washed. His robes were drab and worn, but there were pops of neon thread from my terrible stitching. The man looked a far cry from the emaciated ex-con I’d stumbled upon nearly a month and a half ago.

He leaned forward a little. “Lys?”  
“Yes?”

“Will you… Will you, er… Will you tell me about… about Harry?”

I stilled in surprise, looking up at him. His eyes were earnest. “You… Can you handle it?”

Sirius huffed, looking parts sheepish and wistful, breaking eye-contact. “I know I… I almost blanked there, again, but…” He looked up at me hopefully. “He’s- He’s my godson, you know? I… After Jamie and Lily-flower, I was- I was there to hold him when he was born. He’s my godson, and I- I _left him_. I couldn’t even… All I knew was to kill Pettigrew to protect him, but I’ve never- I never tried to know him, who he was, who he grew up to be…”

My heart twinged. His eyes were growing wet, and he looked away again, flushing with shame.

“He likes flying,” I offered quietly.

Sirius’ eyes were still wet — growing more so — but he smiled. “I- Yeah. I know. I try to watch his games, I was there for the- when the dementors attacked, last year. And I watched the last game, the ‘Claws and… He’s a natural. Genius Quidditch Seeker.”

I smiled. “Not Quidditch, I mean. Harry loves _flying._ I think- From what he’s alluded to, I think it calms him down. He’s… He’s used to being alone, you know, and as much as I know he loves Ron and Hermione — his best friends, Ron is my brother — he’s always so crowded about, Boy-Who-Lived and such, so I think… I think he likes being able to breathe up there. He thought- Ah, this is hilarious- He thought I’d like that too, so he put me on a broom and… Well.”

“What else?” asked my friend — friend…? Yeah, friend… — eagerly.

“He’s the sweetest kid. A git, sometimes, but really… Just… genuinely kind. The… The first conversation I ever really had with him, he’d just overheard me worrying about being the first Weasley Slytherin, and he said… He told me that it’d be alright, that he was sure I’d make Slytherin better. Than Malfoy, which isn’t hard, but still.”

“That’s- He gets that from… from Lily. I’m sure. She was like that, too.”

“…He’s clever. And he thinks things through. Sees things from your point of view. Did you know- Well, you heard of the Chamber incident? No? I’ll explain later, but suffice to say… Well, a friend of mine died. He- He wasn’t a good person. My friend. He deserved to die, he _had to die_ , but… Harry was the only one who didn’t care. My friend did horrible, horrible things to people, to him, but Harry told me… He said that he was sorry I’d lost a friend.”

I didn’t look over at Sirius. I was staring at my lap, my hands. If I looked at him, I’d see him crying, and I know he didn’t want me to see. We didn’t practice Legilimency or Occlumency that night, so there were no headaches when I stumbled back to Hogwarts, but my voice ached from speaking and I’m sure Sirius’ eyes ached from all the tears.

(“Thank you, Lys,” whispered Sirius Black, “Thank you.”)

 

**…**

 

_Silver light behind the clouds, dark sky like ink — “THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED-!” — a howl, echoing and vibrating, nails like claws. — ??? — elongating, morphing, skin growing with coarse brown and eyes wide like amber? — hair like rose petals, a dark hand covered in its strands, plaiting it down her back. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Josie?” she asked, laughing — flashing eyes, amused, vampiric smile. “I’m sure, I’m sure-”_

_Stop._

_Blood dripping out of her nose, into her mouth, taste like copper and salt? — “Don’t push yourself, girl. You’re young, yet-” “Meaning my core can take a bit more punishment than yours. We have to do this-” — candles floating in the air, dripping wax into nothing, cloth over the walls. He curled in the corner, a black dog with odd patches fur just starting to grow in — ??? —“Thank you. I feel so much better… so much better. It’s been- It’s been so long…” She smiled, shrugging, writing with ink-splattered hands. “I couldn’t let you-”_

_Stop._

_THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD APPROACHES-_

_Stop._

_He smiled, warm and odd on his face. He pushed up his glasses, pushed the bangs from his forehead. “Let’s get to work, then, shall we, Lys?” —??? — the moon rose and the rat ran, dewy grass beneath her feet, her fingers blackened in the night’s poor light, throbbing pain._

_She stumbled, her wand pointed, “L_ ignarovogentrum!” _and dark, dry black crackled into silver, faded, glinted — Josephine turned and grinned, the Black Lake up to her calves and a hand held out. “Well?”_

_Stop._

_Red, red hair — the graveyard stood, dark and empty and misting, a figure hunched over — ??? — Josephine Zabini opened the letter, hands trembling — ? — turned her back, all their backs, they left. She stood alone, letter in hand, sat elegantly in her place, waited._

_She passed, curious expression on her face, should she? — ??? — swirling colors, orchestral music, a crooked grin and a familiar laugh. “Now, Krum, this time there’ll be no stepping on my feet, will there? Poor Hermione!” He blushed, trying to remain stoic. “Do not tease so-” — ??? — Jay and Lu and Harper stood, Dietrich was running away desperately?_

_Stop._

_The rat scrambled in the boy’s hands, he grinned. “Lyssie, look what I foun- Merlin, I won’t bring him near you, please stop screaming ohmyMerlinwhyareyoucrying??!?!!?” — the boy zipped through the air, wind nearly blinding him, he smiled, the crowd roared. Red and gold and — ??? — the Fat Lady screamed — “Don’t you dare attack Gryffindor Tower. All will be fine.”_

_He laughed. “Why would I, if_ you’re _telling me not to?”_

_She smiled faintly. “I have to follow this choice. I locked myself into it. You understand don’t you?”_

_Stop._

_Sirius Black bared his teeth. “The rat dies.” — Sirius Black had a cloth in his hand, dabbing at her face gently, it came away blotted with red. “Don’t push yourself, girl. You’re young, yet. You’ll learn. I learned, I- Uncle Sevens taught… He taught me. I’ll teach you. He Saw you and I found you and- I- for my pup- Yes. It’s alright.” — She opened her eyes._

_Stop._

I opened my eyes.

“Josephine?” I asked, slightly disoriented from meditating while pretending to do paperwork in the empty common room.

The Head Girl was sitting in my _potesta_ area, stretching out comfortably in Jay’s favorite armchair. It looked like she’d been waiting for me to stop zoning out; that was my favorite excuse when visions decided they wanted to be known. Slytherin seemed to accept that sometimes their _parvus potesta_ leader’s brain just shut off every now and then from overwork; apparently that was a normal thing. Huh.

“Just woke up, did you, Guinevere?” she asked, looking amused. There was a book in her hands-

Oh. Shit, she was reading _Sollertia Augurium._

What the fuck, that had been in my lap! She just plucked it from my lap! Dammit, Josephine!

She followed my disturbed gaze to the book in her hands. “Ah. Right. Apologies, but… Well, can’t blame a girl for being curious, hm? You and Wilkes work on this thing day and night, and it’s such an interesting spell you made…”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “Invading my privacy, Zabini?”

Josephine only twitched _slightly_ at my use of her surname. “Ah. Alright, alright, it was wrong of me- You’ve never gone through my things, so I suppose… Yes, I’m sorry, Guinevere. I’ll owe you something, I promise.”

She looked contrite enough that I just sighed wearily. She closed _Sollertia Augurium_ softly and set it on the coffee table, flicking her wand to sent it sliding to me gently. I placed it in my lap once again, working through my annoyance. Slytherins knew how to keep secrets. Josephine knew to keep mine, I think. And, really, it was more of an open-secret that I was working on something slightly illegal and very interesting with Nate.

“What if I want you to run naked through the Quidditch pitch or something?” I asked, trying to let her know I wasn’t too pissed off about the breach of privacy.

Josephine, wonderful Slytherin she was, understood immediately and smiled regally. “Oh, I’m sure I could spin it in my favor somehow. If not, I take careful consideration into my appearance, you know, Guinevere.”

“I don’t know how you manage to look perfect every day when you’re Head Girl, a NEWT student, _magnus potesta_ reigning, _and_ a pureblood.”

Josephine flashed a sharp smile. “Why, Guinevere. You think I’m pretty?”

I rolled my eyes. “I think you’re _competent_ , which is much more attractive.”

“Why, Guinevere!” she repeated, “You think I’m attractive?”

Duh.

“The entire school thinks you’re attractive,” I replied dismissively. “You and your younger cousin have miracle genes. I’m sure if I asked you to streak around Hogwarts, you’d just be doing everyone a favor.”

Josephine laughed. She looked consideringly at the coffee table, eyes lingering on the disguised _Sollertia Augurium_. “You don’t seem to rest, either, miss _parvus_ reigning. That’s not _The Monster Book of Monsters_ , of course. No need for translation pages. What spell is that, anyway? An Undetectable Extension?”

“Somewhat. It’s complicated. A very annoying process, too.”

She leaned forward. “Hm. Mashed a few spells together, then? Making yourself to be quite the little Spell Craftsman, then, aren’t you? A respectable position, to be sure. Not many women in that field.” Her eyes… well, they didn’t _soften,_ but they became… distant. “Not many pureblood women at all.”

I blinked, sensing a change in the air. My fingers twitched, and the Soothsayer in me poked its head out, gazing at Josephine’s magic. Her fiery reds and oranges were usually quite playful, sliding in and out of sight, curling at the ends with confidence and pride. They seemed… subdued, now. But frustrated. Trembling with tension, but I didn’t know why. My Soothsayer status gave me a certain insight to changes in core, and I used face-reading and deduction to be able to understand emotions. I didn’t know what was going on, the exact emotions of someone I didn’t know all that well. 

Josephine was… not me and mine. Not that close. But she was a friend and a mentor, and she had helped me quite a lot, even if I helped her right back. I admired her, though. Beyond the little crush — it was _not fair_ she was so pretty and competent, she was only seventeen dammit! — I respected her very much.

“Are… Are you alright, Josephine?” I asked cautiously.

She smiled again, but I could tell it was a bit more strained. “Don’t worry yourself over me, Guinevere. I’ll be fine.”

I continued to frown. “I find that when people say ‘I’ll be fine’, they don’t really mean it.”

Josephine’s brown eyes flickered to mine, and she stared intensely for a while. Studying me. Slytherins liked to do that, the dramatic staring-into-your-soul bit. And then they’d usually sigh, like Josephine just sighed, and decided that whatever they’d been looking for, they’d found it. Well, that was how it worked with me, I guess.

“You know how my family works, I suppose, Guinevere?” she asked wearily.

“Matriarchal main family based in Italy, patriarchal branch family settled in Britain. You and Blaise Zabini are from the branch family.” I answered vaguely.

“Sounds just about right. Thing is, Guinevere, I’ve always been a bit more Italian than I should be. You know?”

This sounded familiar.

“Ah,” I muttered, looking at her in a new light. “You’re betrothed, aren’t you?”

“Aloysius Derrick,” Josephine huffed, looking both resigned and disgusted, “His idiotic little brother is in my _potesta._ ”

“Peregrine Derrick. Pain in my arse.” I sighed, remembering that handsome but very snobby, horrible teenager who kept challenging me and mine. Little git pissed Percy off, too, though they were different years — I could hate someone on principle for messing with my siblings, the petty Slytherin I was.

Josephine nodded. “Yes. And, of course, since dramatics run in our blood, I received this recently.”

Her hand slipped into her robes, and a letter was held out to me. It had a broken Ministry seal. I asked for permission with a raised brow (she replied with a regal nod) and opened the letter, skimming the official-looking document with surprise.

“An acceptance of employment…” I murmured with wonder, “You’d be the Undersecretary of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Second to _Amelia Bones,_ the bloody DMLE legend. This is incredible, Josephine.”

The Head Girl smiled tightly. “Proper pureblood wives do not work.”

Her voice was flat. It wasn’t supposed to be; Josephine was playful and teasing and sharp. Sleek. Not resigned.

“You’re going to marry Derrick’s older brother and reject a chance to work underneath Amelia Bones,” I stated, eyes narrowed.

Josephine took back the letter I handed to her. Her knuckles were pale as she gripped at it. So this was why… She’d been frazzled when she came in. Her colors were odd. This was the reason — she thought and acted like a Matriarch, like a _Materfamilias,_ when they — her family and the Derricks, no doubt — wanted her to be a proper, subordinate wife. How infuriating.

She mistook my irritation, I think.

“Think I’m pathetic, Weasley?” she spat out, shoving the letter back into a pocket, “Pining for a position that doesn’t belong to me? Wanting to work underneath a _Hufflepuff_ , some washed out Auror’s widow?”

“I think,” I said coolly, really not wanting to fight the _magnus potesta_ reigning, “that you seem to have forgotten that I’m a _bloodtraitor,_ and I think if I had to make the choice between marrying some arsehole my dad told me to and becoming a Spell Craftsman, you’d be seeing my work in the Spell Registry.”

Josephine blinked. She snapped her gaze to me quickly. “I…” She looked away. “Apologies, Guinevere. I’ve had some… trying conversations with others. My dorm mates, my circle.” She laughed breathlessly. “Merlin, and you’re a brat, and here I am… Ignore me, Guinevere.”

I crossed my arms, smoothing my irritable look over. Lots of emotional outbursts around me this year. It’s like I triggered them or something. “The rare sight of Josephine’s frazzled nerves. Incredible.” I joked lightly, trying to cheer her up.

She snorted. “I’ll buy you Honeydukes if you swear not to mention this.”

“I wouldn’t have anyways.” I said, shrugging and standing to leave. My wand was out, organizing the space and folding the blankets up; I think a nap in my room would help with the exhaustion creeping in once again, though I’d have _Sollertia Augurium_ close by. “For what it’s worth, though, the owner of that signature, there, would say that the position _does_ belong to you. What’s your dorm mates’ opinion compared to the legendary Amelia Bones’, hm?”

Josephine’s smile was slow to come, just like spring. But it was very pretty. And warm.

“You don’t act like a twelve-year-old, Guinevere, you know that?”

I grinned a little. “I don’t feel like one. But I do need a nap. Good luck on your NEWTS. I’m sure I won’t be seeing much of you until they’re over — final exams are approaching, aren’t they, Josephine?”

“Josie, please.”

“Er- What?”

“Josie. Only Blaise and his mum call me that,” she explained.

Only family called her that.

I blinked a little. Then I smiled. “Josie, then. See you around.”

She nodded to me, and I turned to leave-

Then I glanced back. “About my favor.”

Josephine- No, wait… Josie looked at me expectantly. Waiting.

“You _magnus_ students are the only ones allowed to interact with the merpeople.” I began.

Josie nodded. “Because we know how not to offend them. If you little ones went around talking to them… Well, do imagine what it would be like if snotty Malfoy decided to deign to speak to one of them for some reason.”

I grimaced. “He’s been a lot better since I took over.”

“Still a little brat.” Josephi- Josie shrugged. “So? You want to talk to the merpeople?”

“Of a sort? See, Harper’s always got this wide-eyed look when we pass by the lake and see the Giant Squid, and I figured… Well, he’s getting really skilled at the Patronus, I need to reward him somehow, you know, and I don’t suppose you can arrange it so I can ask the merpeople how to befriend it more easily?”

Josie laughed. “That, I can do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baby notes: I know there's misspellings and typos. I don't have a Beta and I basically edit as I write... So yeah, there's mistakes. I know they're annoying. But if it's particularly bothersome, please just *politely* let me know. It's a bit disheartening when I get comments that are rude about it. :(
> 
> Some people correct me often (on language especially) and they're super nice about it -- you know who you are -- so there's proof.
> 
> Also, side note, fuck the word 'cast', honestly. Like. Is its past tense 'cast' or 'casted'? I have no goddamn clue.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yaaaas new chapter! My thanks to [MikoMouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MikoMouse/pseuds/MikoMouse) for beta work! :) Seriously, thanks, I've never had a beta before, I'm like super nervous about how to deal with that. XD And of course, thank you to all who kudos/bookmark/subscribe/comment, because honestly, you guys keep me going — I know, the most cliche fanfic author line ever, but there it is. XD
> 
> Summer is here and I am loving it! I'm trying to write more and build up my stock, so hopefully we won't have any baby hiatus fiascos as we did before. :P Thanks for sticking with me, guys. Let me know how y'all liked the chapter... I'm wrapping this goddamn arc up soon so I hope the pace isn't too messed up for it. Enjoy! :)

 

**…**

 

Spring was slow to come.

But it was warm enough to be outside.

“Ginny,  _why_  do you leave these things ’til last minute?” I asked exasperatedly.

My twin was standing in one of the favorite spots near a willow-like tree next to the Black Lake, her arms full of books and parchment. She gave me a sheepish grin; it was definitely a plea for help. I mean, I could tell from the way she actually sought me out while I was off meditating away from my boys that it would be something unusual, but yeah, it was obvious now. I had just gotten out of a vision of the past  _(underwater — blue ocean — colorful reefs — filtered light)_  and I opened my eyes to my twin sister very much needing help on all the bloody essays the sadistic bastards- er, I mean,  _teachers_  assigned us for no reason other than to watch us squirm.

She put on a puppy look that I was all too familiar with and had subsequently banned in my domain.

“Please, Lys? I’ve just been so busy!”

“I assure you, I’ve been busier,” I stated flatly.

Ginny scowled. “I’m not asking for much, you prat! I’ll do all the work myself and everything, I just need...”

“A minder?”

She bit her lip. “Maybe?”

I sighed, but scooted over and she beamed and took my invitation to sit. With papers and books spread all around us in the grass and roots, I helped yet  _another_  kid with their essays and Ginny scribbled at her parchment furiously. She even managed to get me to hand over some of  _my_  essays to look over, get ideas from, as long as I swore her into a strictly  _no plagiarism_  contract.

(I say contract but it’s just a pinky promise.)

“Oh no... my Herbology topic’s different from yours!”

“You did  _fluxweed?_  Why would you do  _fluxweed?”_  I asked incredulously, skimming over her paper with raised eyebrows.

Ginny groaned. “Morag said she’d do fluxweed and we could work together, but she hasn’t done her essay yet and it’s due  _tomorrow!_  I’m already pants at Herbology, Professor Sprout’s going to  _fail_ me.”

I rolled my eyes. “We could go to the library, I obviously don’t have any reference materials on me right now. Or... no, I have a better idea.”

I pointed my wand at a spare bit of parchment.

“ _Quaternarius Diffindo.”_

The sheet cut itself into a perfect square. I picked it from the ground and scribbled on it, then set to folding it: half-fold, corners down, flip and fold, meet the corners again, etc. Before long I had in my palm a parchment crane.  _That_  was something I remembered how to do from my last life, no research needed.

“Hm. Needs color...  _Camalio Rubens!_  There, that’ll get their attention.  _Gemino, Gemino, Gemino. Nuntiam Percy Weasley, Nuntiam Fred Weasley, Nuntiam Ron Weasley._ Now we’ve got a family reunion going.”

The duplicated crimson cranes fluttered their paper wings and then lifted gently off the ground, towards the castle. Another spell I bastardized the shit out of, of course, since this wasn’t quite the paper plane spell. 

Ginny laughed in delight, as she always did when I did wandless magic for her — and pretty magic at that — and we shifted to her History essay while we waited for living reference materials to arrive. Percy would know everything, the demon twins would have some sort of trivial knowledge as they  _loved_  Potion-making — and thus knew too many things about ingredients — and Ron was actually a good writer when someone forced him to be (Hermione did not often succeed, my lazy brother only picked up the pace when it was Mum or Percy or me yelling at him).

Besides, it had been a while since I saw all of them in one place.

“So, Gin... Do you still have a crush on Harry?”

The flush of her cheeks was enough of an answer. I laughed.

“I think you should talk to him more, big sister,” I advised; I  _did_  want to be in-laws with Harry one day, after all, and I was worried my interference with the Chamber might’ve slowed the progress somehow, “Like how I do. Just treat him like anyone else, really. He doesn’t like the whole hero-worship thing or ogling.”

“But he  _is_  a hero. He saved that prat Malfoy and your friend Dietrich!” she squeaked.

She was my big sister, I know. Her crush was ridiculous, I knew that too. But Ginny was adorable and innocent, and I felt a little wistful, looking at her furiously blushing face and averted eyes, hands playing with copper-orange hair. I had preserved that bit of her, that schoolgirl aspect of my sister. I had proof of it threaded through my magic, crimson folds like velvet dusting my indigo core, shifting about languidly even as the rest of my magic was younger and wilder. Ginny was like this —  _safe_  — for the price of my guilt, my best friend, and the constant reminder, seared into my core.

Worth it. Definitely worth it. Anything —  _anything_  — for mine.

“Lys! Are you having a…?”

I snapped back to the present, trying to remember what was going on, and then went with the good old eye-roll. “Nah, I’m fine. Also… Harry’s pretty particular about fame and fortune. He doesn’t much like it.”

Ginny looked away again, the worried-older-sister slipping back behind that kid who saw how Harry Potter was our family’s miracle and loved him for it. “Wouldn’t it be nice, though? You’re doing so well in Slytherin, you’re practically famous yourself. I wish…”

My smile slipped away. Another unfortunate butterfly effect of my birth. Since Ginny was no longer the only daughter of the family, she became less special. Since she was also not a Seer or a Slytherin or as mature as I was, she became easily jealous. Not bitterly, but she  _longed_  for... well, for something that would make her special. 

It was a bit like Ron, actually, which actually made them closer than I think they would’ve been if I weren’t here. But I had slowly been trying to show these idiotic siblings of mine their own virtues: Ron was a damn good strategist, applicable to anything he wanted to do if he’d just stop being  _lazy_ , and Ginny was a fierce girl that would be an  _incredible_  Quidditch Chaser one day, and she wrote very well for her age — she was just overshadowed and wallowed in it too much.

This was why last year, separating the way we did, had been good for her. On some level, Ginny realized it, too; that’s why she didn’t seek me out as much as she could’ve. My little-big sister was growing up the proper way, slow and steady; no jolting realizations from soul-stealing Dark artifacts possessing her, none of that. She would become something better than canon, allowed to grow without trauma like that.

“So do we all, sister,” I said with a small smile, “We’ll get there one day.”

“Have you Seen it?”

_Ginny flying in a Hollyhead Harpies uniform, waving to the crowd. She smiled as she scored the winning goal — her teammates ran forward to bury her in hugs — “Weasley, you did it! You did it, dammit!” — Playful grin as always, crinkled blue eyes. “Congrats, big sister.” she laughed — there, grown as she was, laughing as she held up a trophy…_

_Stop._

I smiled. “I have. So don’t worry about it, and finish your damn essay!”

She giggled. “Don’t swear too much, Lyssie, Mum’ll kill you. She’s already upset that you wear all of Ron’s old things and still let Fred cut your hair like that — she wrote me that she hid all the scissors at home.”

I sighed. “I’ll have to steal some from someone. Or  _you_  could, none of the pureblood snots in my House’ll have ‘such a useless Muggle device’ or something.”

“What’ll I get in return?”

“Pardon?  _You’re a Gryffindor!_ You get the satisfaction of helping someone!”

She gave a devious grin and I wondered if I hadn’t rubbed off on her too much. Bloody Slythindors. Everywhere now, because of me. I was infecting Harper and Lu with Gryffie impulsiveness and recklessness, and my brothers/sister with Slyth cunning and sense of insults. Well. Actually, that was already done.

Whoops.

“Lyssie? Ginny? What’d you sent this note for?”

I turned to beam at Percy. He had the unfolded red crane in his hand, which detailed where Gin and I were and that they should come meet us if they weren’t busy or I’d prank the hell out of them. Percy looked a little ruffled; he might’ve thought it was some sort of emergency for a moment, running, and then slowed when he realized that if it were an actual emergency I would’ve written in a more... desperate manner. Possibly just ‘GET OVER HERE NOW’ or something. I could see Percy definitely doing that.

“Hi, Perce,” I chirped, pleased to see him as usual, “Gin needs help on fluxweed.”

He gave us both a look. “That’s all?”

Ginny pouted, just a bit. “Yeeeeeees?”

Percy deadpanned, “Ginny, you could’ve found me in the tower.”

I smirked. “She came to  _me_  first, but I didn’t write on fluxweed, I did mandrakes.”

Percy shook his head, evidently giving up on us. “I’ve had enough of mandrakes. Ginny, here, I’ll assist you with your schoolwork — I’m glad to see that you’re taking it seriously now, as it will be important in your future-”

Ginny rolled her eyes at me, but she listened to Percy as he lectured on fluxweed and the uses of Herbology in many careers, etc. I made a point of writing down the more interesting things he said, wondering if Dietrich or Harper knew this stuff about this particular ingredient, the sorta Potions nerds they were. Percy was apparently only halfway through his impromptu lecture on the vices of becoming a magical gardener or a Potions Master when Ron showed up, looking distinctly more naturally ruffled than Percy.

“Lyssie, what?” he asked bluntly.

“Oh, you brought your homework? Good, you need help.”

He scowled. “Who said I needed help?”

“Harry.”

“That  _traitor-!”_

“I lied. That was a guess, and look at that, it was right. C’mon, Percy’s tutoring us.”

“As if  _you_  need tutoring, Lys. You could probably Slytherin someone into doing all your homework for you at this point.”

“You flatter me, Ronniekins.”

“Oh, shut up… Help with this Charms essay, would you?”

When the twins showed up about a half an hour later, they readily agreed to help Percy lecture — interjecting random tidbits of information that I scrambled to write down — and even looked over all our essays, congratulating us too enthusiastically for being good students for once. But I knew, of course, that they were happy to get away from whatever they’d been doing, if it was for family. I didn’t know if in the books the Weasley’s got together like this often or at all, but I thought it was nice... and hopefully it would enable me to protect them all better, if they were more together than before.

It was rare, and I loved it, when I managed to hang around my family. Sometimes, it seemed like all my time was eaten away by Slytherin things and Seer-business — I barely spoke to Luna, I barely spoke to my  _twin sister_. And with how close Fred and George were, it made me a bit sad... shouldn’t Gin and I be closer? 

Then again, Padma and Pavarti Patil didn’t seem to be seen together  _at all_  and they were  _actually_  identical... so many twins, all over the place. Was it just more commonplace in Britain? ‘Cos I never saw any bloody twins when I was an American Muggle.

Fred was suddenly poking around in my bag.

I made an indignant sound and slapped his hands away. “Stay out! I ward my things, you idiot, you might get hurt!”

Fred grinned sheepishly and brought up bruised fingers. “Too late, Lyssiekins.”

I rolled my eyes and did a few  _Aresco Contusa’_ s — bruise-healing spells, worked only for very light and generally harmless bruises on the skin — for my stupid brother. “Honestly, there’s nothing that important to  _you_  in there. Just a bit of... notes. Among other things.”

George waggled his eyebrows. “Other things?”

“Slytherin things,” I said defensively.

( _Sollertia Augurium_  was in there. Along with a file folder for some paperwork. I was still trying, after all these weeks, to calm down the Beaumont-Lynwood situation. And, of course, another notebook on Legilimency and Occlumency with direct references to Sirius Black and Helvynya Prevett and Peter Pettigrew. Good god, I needed to up my wards with that sort of delicate information being carried around with me.)

“So toast is a strictly Slytherin thing, then?” Fred asked, bringing up a few pieces of toast that I’d stuck in there under a Stasis Charm this morning. I had a certain obsession with plain, buttered toast, so that was for me, but Harper had given me an idea earlier in Potions…

I laughed. “That’s for Squiddy.”

Even Percy looked up from what he was doing (marking Gin’s essay).  _“Squiddy?”_  he asked skeptically. 

“Harper named him that,” I answered.

Ginny looked wounded. “ _Why?”_

Ron snickered. “Because  _Harper_ , Gin, what else?”

Rolling my eyes again, I plucked the cold toast from my bag and peeled my shoes and socks off. The demon twins followed after me curiously, but stopped just at the edge of the water of the Black Lake. I waded in, the water up to my knees — cold as fuck, of course, fucking late springs — when I finally stopped.

“SQUIDDY! I’VE GOT SOME TOAST FOR YOU, BUDDY!” I shouted.

(Yes. That is exactly how Harper called him, in the dorm windows.)

(I didn’t know if it liked toast. I certainly liked toast, so… Hopefully the Squid would love me. I wasn’t a Care of Magical Creatures connoisseur the way Charlie was, but I really, really liked animals; that was something that didn’t change from last life to this one. Also, Giant Squid.  _Giant Squid._ )

Fred and George were absolutely  _delighted_  when the Giant Squid docilely let me pet his tentacles in exchange for toast and a story about Harper coming to visit him soon. The thing  _loved_  Harper.  _Loved him._ And obviously Harper loved it back. I was quite pleased that I used my favor from Josie for meeting the Giant Squid.

It must’ve made a strange picture, when all six of us Weasley’s went into the shallows of the lake — because Ron absolutely refused to go any further; he still held a deep-seated fear of large bodies of water, after all, and the fact that he pushed himself just to hang about us was testament enough to his attachment to his siblings — bare-foot and with rolled up pants (for the boys), tossing pieces of toast at Squiddy and laughing as George was “accidentally” tripped and came out soaked.

I’m rather sure Squiddy was going to be visited by the demon twins a lot from now on.

It was... nice. Rare moments. It reminded me why I was going through all this stupid shit in the first place. To defend and do what was best for me and mine, and what was fair for everyone else. My siblings were the first ones I ever claimed as mine, the catalysts of almost everything I do. I might’ve distanced myself slightly, buried in work, but I wouldn’t forget this.

Spring was slow to come, but it was coming. And once it passed, I had a rat to catch and a future war hero to provide for. My path was set.

 

**…**

 

“I think I’m actually going to cry.”

Nate scoffed, but there was an amused glint to his eyes. “Don’t be melodramatic, Lys.”

I stared at him. He looked perfectly smug and relaxed, lounging in Jay’s armchair. The Slytherin commons were sparse for Slytherins, and evidently it relaxed him enough to burrow into my pillows — that he stole from my couch! — And blankets; something he avoided, citing “clashing imagery” or some rot. Or maybe he was just as relieved as I was; his dark, reddish colors were swirlier than normal, which I equated with extremely pleased, a little bit excited.

“Nate,” I said, “We finished the entire Memory Ward chapter. It took us two months.”

He squinted at me. “You act as if that’s slow. By the progress we had before, we were almost seven times faster to translate this section, which is considerably more difficult than her childhood diaries.”

I threw my hands up. “I get that! I was the one who set us that demanding pace, after all. But we’re  _finally done._ That’s one less thing for us to focus on — maybe we’ll make some progress with the Patronus?”

Nate grunted, and it sounded like he was a bit too late to hold back a groan. “My core is not the largest, and it is as Dark as it can get… I rather think you, Jay, and I won’t quite be able to master it at the moment.”

“Or you’re embarrassed that Dietrich’s made more progress than you.”

“Hush, Lys.”

“With reason,” I continued, ignoring Nate and taking one of the few chances we all had to tease him, “He practices harder than anyone, the protective git. His core’s smaller than yours, a Grey edging on Dark, but he’s got wisps of Patronus white already. I know for a fact that the only reason he’s not bothering me about sneaking out at night is because he’s doing the same thing, practicing in the abandoned classroom.”

Nate gave me an odd look. “You admitted that rather easily.”

I leaned back into my quilts, rubbing at my eyes. (I had a headache building, but what else was new?) “You of all of us would know,” I reasoned, shrugging, “I have  _no clue_  what you use to get your creepily accurate information, that you later use to break brains and cause chaos, but I figured you’d be perfectly aware how little sleep I get.”

“That’s quite the compliment, from you,” Nate said.

“Also you’ve been letting me sleep in History of Magic, which you never do, so I figure you felt bad for me.”

He faltered. As he always did when someone accused him of being nice. “Ah. Well, we all go to bed by eleven, but I know you leave at twelve and tend not to come back until two or three in the morning. Feel free to imagine Lucas teasing you for your height and implying your poor health will lessen it.”

“Did you just…? You should’ve just said, ‘Insert short joke from Lu.’ or something… You didn’t even want to say it yourself…”

He scoffed again. “Lucas’ brand of humor is far too childish for my tastes.”

“You definitely laughed yesterday when Lu threw his shoe at Malfoy’s face.”

Nate smirked at the memory, and I did the same. That had been a  _beautiful_  sight. “Oh, I was laughing at the look on Malfoy’s face, believe me. It’s always a pleasure to see my first leader physically attack my second leader, as I watch sitting beside my third and final leader.”

I looked at Nate thoughtfully. “It actually really disturbs me that you’ve switched sides that much. Disturbs, but doesn’t surprise,” I told him mildly.

He pushed up his glasses carelessly, leaning his head into the armchair back. “Ah, not to worry, Lys. You’ll be the last I follow, I think.”

_I hope_ , it almost sounded like.

Awwwww, Nate.

He glared at me suspiciously. “I don’t like that sappy smile on your face, Lyssie.”

“It’s nothing — you’re just being adorable.”

“As if you can describe Nathaniel as such,” scoffed a voice behind me.

I twisted around and grinned upside-down at my Second. He was trailing into the common room with Lu and Harper and Jay following, looking tired. Dietrich always looked tired these days, though, since as I said before, Dietrich was training his dueling as much as I was studying Legilimency. Tired and irritable, since he’d been relegated to fetching Lu and Harper back from Quidditch practice so we could hold court properly. Students were starting to filter into the commons anyways, getting out of clubs and such just about now.

“Don’t worry, you’re all adorable,” I replied, as Dietrich slumped into his couch corner on my right, Harper taking the left, Jay pouting at the fact that his favorite armchair was taken, and Lu taking a seat across.

“Why does everyone always steal my chair?” Jay sighed.

“I think the question is: Why do  _you_  like that chair so much?” Lu countered, kicking his feet up on the coffee table — Nate threw him a vicious glare and Levitated  _Sollertia Augurium_  and its now-hidden notes pages out of the way — “It honestly looks like something an evil git would sit in.”

Harper frowned at Jay’s chair. “It sort of does, Jay…”

(The chair was black leather and dark wood, tall and imposing, baroque-like decoration. It was also deceivingly comfortable; it looked like it’d be hard and cold, but it was really quite nice, and big enough for Jay to curl up in it to nap if he wanted — definitely large enough so he could draw.)

“Perfect for Nathaniel, then,” Dietrich murmured quietly.

Not quietly enough. Nate raised a brow. “So hostile, Dietrich. I thought we were friends.”

“If my reluctant tolerance of your irritating person is considered friends, then I suppose we are, Nathaniel.”

“Everyone else calls me Nate,” the boy in question complained, “Why do you call me that?”

“It is your name.” Dietrich replied flatly.

“I don’t like it!”

“I do not like you.”

Jay had quietly fumbled around Harper, bouncing in his seat and ranting about Quidditch practice with Lu animatedly, so that he could sit down in front of me, on the floor. It was the perfect height so I could lean over and reach his hair, and he could use the low-set coffee table as a surface to draw on. Which he did, and I did; his braid had gotten mussed over the course of the day, so I started combing it out gently. Jay acted like this was routine, which it was, and that was quite a far cry from the first time I ever did his hair in the common room — little Jay had been so dreadfully  _embarrassed_ , it was adorable.

All my boys were adorable, dammit!

Then, a thought occurred to me out of nowhere. My boys… What would have become of them in canon? Would that have really just followed Malfoy and become junior Death Eaters? Would Dietrich really have left England, disappeared into Germany or France forever? Did canon Harper know how to cast a Patronus? Did canon Jay braid his hair back the way mine did? …Did my boys even exist in canon at all?

A world without my boys…

Well. It was a damn good thing I was born into this version of this world. Without any of them… I wouldn’t want to imagine it.

“And what’s got our leader smiling about?” Lu asked, breaking from his ranting with Harper.

My fond smile widened into a grin. “I’m just happy you’re all here.”

“In the common room? Where else would we be?” Harper asked.

Lu’s face was a bit pink when he chucked a pillow at Harper’s face. “Shut up, Harper! You idiot. Lyssie’s being all sentimental and girly.” He turned to me, grimacing. “Saying things like that in public, you bloody  _Gryff.”_

I raised a brow. “It’s not like I confessed my undying love for you, Lu.”

“Better not say that, Lyssie. Dietrich might duel me for your hand or something.”

“-can’t shorten my name- Wait. Lucas!  _Ta gueule!_  I DO NOT fancy Lys, when will you  _understand_  this?!?” Dietrich hissed.

Nate’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Oh? Our Second fancied Lyssie?”

Harper laughed. “Yeah! He-”

“ _Say_ anything _and I’ll_ kill _you, Harper.”_

“-definitely fancied her in first year for a bit. Got all moon-eyed whenever she taught us new spells and had to guide his wand movements, you know? Lu paid that Creevey bloke to lend his camera and develop a picture for it-”

“YOU DID WHAT?”

“Shut up, Harper! You gave it away! Idiot!”

Nate was laughing his ass off. “HA! THAT’S PATHETIC!”

“ _You are dead, Wilkes.”_

“Ow, Lu, stop hitting me! Dietrich, hide me!”

“ _You as well, Harper.”_

Meanwhile, Lu and I — for some reason, we were exempt from Dietrich’s irritation — were cracking up, and though Jay was being calm and blissfully ignorant of our shenanigans as usual, I  _knew_  he was smiling. His usual timid colors, deep and dark and heavy, were trilling with amusement; it was an  _echo_  of the vibrant amusement of Lu’s bold, dare I say  _Gryffindor_ - _ish_  colors, and my own overwhelming indigo-crimson, but it was there. All our colors were swirling around, the humming music harmonizing oddly but familiarly.

I gazed at the chaos of colors thoughtfully.

When I first Saw Sirius Black, as a Grimm, his colors were all dulled and blackened, glassy with madness, wilting. I hadn’t really looked at them since; he was much better, mentally and physically, now. I wondered if his core was better now, nourished with Hogwarts meals and proper Occlumencic meditation and actual conversation — even if it was with a little girl — on a daily basis. I wondered how his happiness would be reflected in his magic when I told him we could finally begin the Memory Lock technique.

(I wondered when I’d unconsciously sorted Sirius Black into the “me and mine category”.)

(What is it with me and harboring enemies of Harry Potter?)

 

**…**

 

“Conjoined is too difficult-”

“Yes, I agree, Conjoined Memory Wards wouldn’t work.”

“Because our skill levels and minds have to be in sync, and I’m not sure how well that’ll go…”

“Yes, a 12-year-old, mentally sound, amateur Legilimens performing a Conjoined Memory Ward with a 34-year-old, half-mad Azkaban-escapee… Brilliant assessment, Lyssie.”

“Don’t take that tone with me, Black. I’ll have Tilly put  _peppers_  in your next meal.”

“Oh god, no.”

We both took a moment to pause, assessing the papers and notes strewn around us, lit by floating candles. It was nearing Easter, and we’d already determined that one of our Legilimencic wards was out of the running. Conjoined Memory Wards were  _much_  more difficult to mess with, though that wasn’t the best option — I was too unskilled and Sirius was too unstable to go at Memory Wards alone right now. But, again, it required minds on a matching “frequency” as Prevett put it, and we weren’t going to take the very _large_ chance that we were  _not_  of the same frequency. Prevett tested it — quite an advocate of the Imperius, along with gruesome threats towards loved ones and such — and found the least severe effect of mismatching frequencies was a coma.

I didn’t really want to think about the most severe effect. I wasn’t really sure that such a result was isolated, since Prevett was not only an Imperius fan, but a Cruciatus fan as well. Might’ve been a mix of lots of horrible things.

So with Conjoined out of the way, that left us to our little race again… Who would do the honors? Would Sirius get his head on straight before the time came, or would I get skilled enough to make the ward myself? It was uncertain, and one thing Slytherins and Slytherin-raised learned, Important Plans should never be laid out uncertainly. One may have several versions, to account for different variables, but uncertainty was just an invitation for Murphy’s Law.

I glanced at my partner in crime.

Sirius’ headspace was much better now. After I told him things about Harry, he got a lot better with Occlumency. He’d blank out sometimes, start getting confused and distracted and rambling, but I could pull him out of it through  _Legilimency_  now, which was much more efficient than giving him chocolate and waiting for him to sort through it himself. He was much healthier now, and I was glad of it. His colors were brighter, too; the maroons weren’t as fragile, as glassy, and there was a hint of gold in his crackling strings.

Sirius startled suddenly, diving to one of the papers on his right.

“What? What is it?”

He looked up at me, pointing at the notes. “An anchor! You- You need an anchor to your mind, right?”

I nodded, seeking out more copied pages from that section of the ward. (These copies would disappear soon, as was the nature of  _Geminio_  without a permanency or stasis ritual.) 

“Depending on how deep you go into the target mind’s memories, you’ll need an anchor to your own mind so you don’t get lost. Apparently that can happen, and then there’s some creepy Multiple Personality Disorder thing that’ll go on if you do.”

“Stuck in Pettigrew’s body…”

I shivered. “Ergh. Yeah. Depending on the target mind’s strength, or if they are an Occlumens, or if they are particularly creative, etc., the anchor might take form. If you’re able to form yourself in their head, you might carry a totem with you, or you might have a distinguishing mark, or maybe it’ll be a very obvious door… It’s all very subjective. Whatever. Something to lead you back.”

“And that’s the effect of the runic circles we have to carve into your solar plexus and forehead, yes? Sanctify a branch of sage, crush it into powder, mix with fairy eggs, add snapdragons and peach leaves to dye it, draw the runes in those places. Add a bit of your physical object, your anchor, and it’s stronger…”

“Yeah. Helvynya Prevett usually made her prisoners add a bit of metal from their shackles or something of theirs they treasured, just so they’d recall themselves. The ritual objects… Yes, those are easily obtainable. There’s a breakdown of the runic circles, too, somewhere around. Let me tell you, Sirius, it was a bitch to translate that — I don’t even  _take_  Ancient Runes yet…”

“What about this part here?”

I peered at the paper he was waving in front of my face. “Spillage effect? Your anchor connects to you, and you to your anchor. Prevett says that the caster felt closer to their anchor after that; the bloke who used his wand had stronger magic for a while, and the lady who used a tree said something about being able to feel her roots and such, wouldn’t eat for weeks, saying the sunlight was enough. Said it was sort of like magic transference — temporary, but very strong. Which is why she liked using the shackles, the sadistic bitch-”

“What if we mixed the dye with our blood or hair?”

I froze.

_What if I was your anchor, or you were mine?_

That…

Prevett detailed that there was a caster who used their favorite hunting hound as his anchor. Mixed one of the dog’s fangs, ground to powder, into the dye. Stated that when the prisoner was in the target mind, he felt feral and aggressive and unsure. The effect followed him out even when he followed his anchor out and the dye was rubbed away, though it seemed to have faded within a few weeks. Prevett didn’t recommend it because the man had been quite confused, unable to draw lines between his thoughts and the hound’s instincts.

The man wasn’t an Occlumens. Sirius and I both  _were,_ even if one of us was a little spotty and the other only had barriers thanks to a cambion. Point is, we knew how to block things out if we put in a bit (a lot) of effort. And we dove into each other’s heads so often, I knew Sirius’ mind pretty damn well, and vice versa. A few weeks with a (mostly) human friend, and…

He could help me do the Memory Lock from far away. Or I could make sure he didn’t lose his shit.

“There’s a lot that can go wrong. We have to test it first,” I muttered.

“On who?”

My first thought was my boys. That was dismissed easily enough — I promised myself I would  _never_  invade their privacy as grossly and insensitively as I had before. That hadn’t turned out well, after all. My brothers were out. Ginny, too. I’d rather not subject Luna to that. The House Elves were too kind and I didn’t really want staff loyal to Alby to know about Sirius just yet. I wasn’t sure if animals would be the same… Who was available to us? Who was willing? Who would be the safest, both to do this to and to trust with Sirius Black?

There was… one person. Sort of. Kinda.  _Maybe._

“You remember if Legilimency works on ghosts?” I asked Sirius.

He frowned — he always had a tough time remembering things, but as we weren’t speaking of happy things really, Sirius wasn’t so bad. “I… I think so. All it needs is a mind and eye-contact. Magic should… Magic should supply the rest, even if the nervous system is just an echo of a real one…”

I grimaced to myself. “Well… I think I have a sort of… ally. Who I can ask. No- No guarantees.”

Sirius frowned. “As long as it’s not… the ghost who- put a bucket on Remus’ head, yes…? No, no, sorry, I- I lost myself a bit there. The ghost. Peeves. I think I can… You’re friends with a ghost? Wait. No.  _Why_. Why are you friends with your House ghost?”

“Not friends,” I mumbled, “Allies. I’m entertaining, apparently.”

_Entertainment enough to fill a century._

“He’s a Slytherin, isn’t he…? He’ll ask for something in return. Slytherins- You- They always do. They always get something in return-” His eyes started to go hazy and dark, and I instinctively knew a bad memory had surfaced.

I put my hand on his arm gently. “Occlude, Sirius.”

He swallowed visibly, eyes focusing again and training themselves on my hand, and seemed to bring himself back. “Right, sorry about that.”

I shook my head. “Never mind that, Sirius. Let’s make sure we have everything we need, everything planned. I’ll worry about our ghost test subject.”

“Lys… The  _Bloody Baron_ , I ask you…”

“Hush. Don’t judge my allies. Your only one is a girl half your age and size.”

“…I resent that.”

I snorted. “No, you don’t.”

Sirius laughed. “You’re right! I don’t.” 

He blinked into the middle-distance. I warily sat straighter; that was the sign of his memories taking him over… The good sort. There was dementor relapses, like Sirius self-triggering himself back into Azkaban like earlier, and there was remembering relapses, where a flood of good memories assaulted him trying to combat possible dementor relapses. Sirius’ head was all sorts of unbalanced when he wasn’t ready for it; and he essentially went through intense exposure therapy with me, insisting that dancing around subjects for the sake of his sanity wasn’t the important thing right now. He had to learn how to snap himself out of it sooner or later, so I waited and watched first.

“…Uncle Sevens… he.. She- She’s very nice, I think. Uncle Sevens didn’t know- he didn’t- All he knew was that you were a Clairvoyant who’d help… not her, not the Mind Eater, she’s not- she’s not- she’s… Lys… Uncle Sevens would be very- Ergh- He’s- He’d be very pleased that his- his great-granddaughter… took after him. You- Lys is- Yes. That’s it- I’m alright, don’t move, Lys, I’m- I remembered, in the end.”

I sighed in relief. Sirius got lost there, but he got himself back.

“Huh. I wonder if we couldn’t make some variation of the anchor for you, to keep you from falling into your own memories so often.” I mused aloud, deciding to let Sirius quietly revel in his success.

He looked up intriguingly. (He  _would_ be interested in that.) “Maybe when we’re done with the Memory Wards,” he said hopefully.

I grinned. “And you’re free, and Harry invites Ron and me to your house. They can go and play Quidditch, while we can go and break our brains.”

Sirius looked shocked and awed and elated. “You really think… You think he’ll want to… with me- he’ll- You think Harry will live with me?”

I smiled at my… friend? (Merlin, it was so weird to have a friend who was just a slight younger than my actual  _father.)_  “Ask him and you’ll see, won’t you?”

_You’re going to speak to your godson, Sirius._

“Oh. Right, I- I could… ask him.”

_I never thought I’d be able to. I never thought I’d be able to remember him._

“Yes, well. C’mon, then. Let’s get to work.”

_So you can speak to him sooner._

It should’ve probably been alarming that I could communicate with Sirius Black like this; two conversations, only one spoken aloud. Dietrich and I did that, but he was  _Dietrich —_  my best mate _._  Ginny and I used to do that, but we were sort of… on vastly different frequencies, now. Sirius Black and I were just Mind Arts buddies.

…At least this was a step up from the cambion, right?

 

**…**

 

“So the  _regina potestae parvae_  deigns to speak with me at last.”

The Bloody Baron looked as he always had. Pale chains, silvery blood, tattered robes, a solemn face. There was a certain glimmer of amusement in his eyes, sometimes, which was a stark contrast to the usual emptiness or bitterness, but it was shallow. He wasn’t quite as towering this time, though I suppose that was because I was just a bit taller than our last meeting. It had nearly been a year since I’d spoken to the ghost.

“Apologies,” I began formally, “It was a difficult transition.”

“Oh, I know this. I watched…  _Duabus ex tribus.”_

“Feels like it was a long time ago, actually,” I mused.

An echoey chuckle. “A feeling I — and all of my fellows who haunt these halls — know well, young reincarnation.” 

The Bloody Baron studied me. It was ironic, but we were standing in the second floor hallway where Tom Riddle had once used Draco Malfoy’s body to paint red on the walls. Moaning Myrtle was background noise, her sobbing punctuated by short shrieks, which was the reason the hallway was so empty, even being the middle afternoon. Sunlight streamed through the windows, but the Bloody Baron’s proximity to me made it cold.

(Not dementor-cold, but… cool. Quiet.)

“I never thanked you,” I said softly, “for keeping my secrets. For silencing Myrtle.”

He looked unimpressed, gliding an inch or so backwards. “You do not thank another for a business transaction. You have more than fulfilled your part of our silent bargain. My word is all I have now, in this unlife… I have kept it.”

I gave a curt nod. “It’s only polite. I appreciate it.”

“Hm. And what, young reincarnation, have you approached the Bloody Baron for? Do not think I have not noticed… You have avoided speaking to me. A rather poor practice, when facing those who have much to offer.”

Ugh. That was very true. I was a very bad Slytherin, avoiding our House ghost. “I tend to get nervous when you know my greatest secret and I don’t quite know if I’m entertaining enough to keep it that way.”

“Ah, but young Slytherin, you have.” The Bloody Baron smiled. It was not a kind smile. “It has been a long time indeed, since I’ve seen a collector like you are.”

“Collector?”

“How long ago it seems… We called your type of soul,  _níðdraca hwa déoreþ sé byrstigne hord_ — dragon who loves the broken hoard.” The Bloody Baron chuckled a little. “Sometimes…  _þæs eorðcynn ymbhammen be forsuncenan heofoncandel._ The earth surrounded by faded stars. Collector of shattered, unwanted things. Shattered, unwanted souls.”

_How dare this-_

I felt my jaw clench. “Do not call those I call  _mine…_  shattered or unwanted.”

“Because you have remade them, and want them, young reincarnation… they love you for it, and will never leave because of it, and thus you have created for yourself a broken hoard that will always stay with its dragon.” He glanced at me. “Oh? I do not mean offense, young snake.”

“It sure doesn’t seem like it,” I said behind gritted teeth.

The Bloody Baron drifted closer, raising his hand to my face, fingers just skimming my cheekbone. It was cold and odd to feel, but I let the ghost do as he wanted; the Bloody Baron was studying me again, more closely, and I was about to ask a favor. No matter how irritated I was at his insults towards mine, I had to think of them first. A Memory Lock on Pettigrew benefited me, yes, but it was mostly for Harry and Sirius’ sake.

(If they weren’t mine, I would kill the little fuck and be done with it. I’d make it work. I think I’d made enough choices to balance out my death, to sooth Fate and guide her into that sort of direction. Alas… I made things harder for myself.)

(Worth it.)

“So, girl? What is it you desire from the dead?”

I straightened, raising my chin proudly. I wasn’t speaking to one of mine, or a  _parvus_ , or just a year mate. I was asking something from a soul older than Helvynya Prevett, possibly older than Hogwarts, if only by a little bit. The Bloody Baron had no reason to comply with my request other than his own entertainment — I’d have to take advantage of that one thing.

“Would I be able to buy your silence with a story? And once you’ve heard the story, I think you’ll know what I want from you.”

Draw him in. He’s a bored ghost. He’s a bored ghost I want something from.

“Oh? A story, you say…?”

“The story of a man who was framed for murder, who has known two Clairvoyants in his lifetime well enough to receive aid twice over. I want a sort of underdog on top ending to this one, and it all rather depends on you.”

“Hm… Infuriatingly intriguing, young reincarnation. You know this.”

I smiled. He was humoring me for now. “It gets better. Your silence, first, if you please.”

The Blood Baron’s silvery eyes were calculating. “My silence and my word of it, then. Tell your tale, then, girl. Ah… And it would please you to know, that my judgement of you has not been proven wrong. So young, to hold such power and political prowess… and how you manipulate others. Yes,  _níðdraca hwa déoreþ sé byrstigne hord_ … My silence.”

And his silence I had, as I spoke about Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew and the technique from Helvynya Prevett. Of Septimus Weasley leading his favorite great-nephew to his great-granddaughter. Of Legilimency and Occlumency and an anchor drawn into our foreheads and chests mixed with the other’s blood. Of how my choices this year had slowly been leading to the option of incarcerating Pettigrew, and how that option necessitated a Memory Lock. Of all these things, of how I’d had to meditate with Sirius to the point where I’d been strangling myself and seeing spots in my vision from blood loss, just to make sure Fate was content with the path I’d shifted her on.

The Bloody Baron listened in silence, and thought in it, too. The light was slanting and the shadows were growing and Myrtle still crying by the time I’d finished speaking, and the Baron left his thoughts. He blinked at me slowly, reminding me of a snake assessing the mouse before it.

“You will know my life story, young reincarnation,” he said emotionlessly.

“I already sort of do,” I answered, gazing at the bloodstains and quietly shifting chains.

The Bloody Baron wasn’t an idiot. “I had suspected. A vision, then.” He nodded in acceptance.

I didn’t break my eyes from his. “Your answer?”

“I’m inclined to give it. I simply desire payment, in return.”

No relief yet — I stayed tense. “And that would take the form of…?”

He leaned closer. “Nothing difficult. An answer to my own question, young Seer… You know of my crime, of my sin. Of  _her._  Tell me… in the strands of Fate you See, is there a thread I might follow… a choice  _I_  might make… where I…”

“Does she forgive you in any version of the future?” I finished quietly.

He stared at me. Waiting.

I slowly shut my eyes, centering myself, drawing my magic in. It was tired and cranky, overused and thin, but I coaxed it into my core and tried to smooth its edges best I could; blended the indigo and blues of the center, let them flow gently into the dark borders, into the black, tinged with red. The silver threads were like spider strings, faded, but I wound them around softly, touching at the crimson fondly, the color pulsing with life even as the rest of my magic sighed.

_Once more,_  I whispered,  _and then we can rest._

My magic, its strands knitted tightly into my soul, obliged.

_“I stole the diadem. I sought to make myself cleverer, more important than my mother. I ran away with it. My mother, they say, never admitted that the diadem was gone, but pretended that she had it still. She concealed her loss, my dreadful betrayal, even from the other founders of Hogwarts.”_

_Stop._

_Fingers brushing through dark hair, loving smile, crinkled eyes — “Helena, Helena,_ mín hyldemség dóchtor, _” sang the woman with a crown on her brow — grey eyes endlessly watching. He looked and looked, and she turned away each time, her hand touching the bloodstain on her chest where he’d — “You will never be forgiven. In this life and the next.” —_ “-ðú dædbana!”  _She was screaming, crying, his hands were grabbing, scrabbling for hair and cloth and slick with blood, it sunk into her breast and red came out like water — She turned away from him again._

_Stop._

“Not yet. If ever.”

“Ah. I did not think otherwise.”

“…Your answer?”

“I will be waiting at the house of false ghosts, little reincarnation.”

I wiped blood from my mouth, cringing as my throat felt tight and my breath came less easily. I didn’t open my eyes. I’d be too tempted to See his colors, pale and faded as they were, and I didn’t want to look at heartbreak just yet. That was something I could do without seeing; it’s much harder to detach from someone when you see them break, you know. And this was my triumph — I’d gotten the ally we needed — even if it didn’t quite feel like it.

When my eyes opened, he was, predictably, gone. I sighed to myself, cringing as I coughed blood into my elbow. This was another reason I avoided the Bloody Baron. There was a permanent veil of misery and bitterness surrounding him, and no matter how I spoke to him, he always left that behind with him. Like a dementor, on a lesser scale, and without deriving nourishment or enjoyment from it.

I clicked my tongue. “Great. Now I need to go find Harper and Lu or Harry or the demon twins.”

And those fuckers would make me go fly or something. The twins and Lu had been so  _pouty_  since they witnessed me in the air with Harry. I wasn’t sure if they were upset about me riding a Firebolt or if they were pissed I finally decided flying was okay but it wasn’t through their direct efforts. Probably the first one, the idiots.

I smiled a little to myself. Cheered me up already, even thinking about seeing them all. I’d need that, diving into the  _Bloody Baron’s_  head alongside  _Sirius Black._  Good lord.


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welp, this is a tad bit late for the time of day (in my area of the world, at least) but here it is! I'm almost done with chapter 36 and I've got a hazy plan for the rest of the year, so hopefully this'll be one of the last few filler-ish chapters. XD Unfortunately not beta'ed except by yours truly, but I hope it's clean enough. :)
> 
> As always, thank you to everyone who follows this fic. It honestly astounds me how much support I get for it, and how much the plot and worldbuilding and characters are loved. :') And I hate to be one of those authors, but I assure you, comments really get me off my ass to write, which is increasingly difficult these days, so I appreciate any and all comments. XD Thank you guys so much for the love, though, whatever you can spare.
> 
> With that, enjoy the chapter! :)

 

**…**

 

To my shame, there were a lot of things I had to neglect in order to do everything I needed this year. 

My choice, working towards any crueler Fate for Peter Pettigrew, it guided me towards my boys and my Slytherins. The _parvus potesta_ was all I could handle for the first half of the year, trying to get my Slytherins under control and carve a seat of power. And as I was doing that, my Occlumency shields were deteriorating without my notice, and I had been on the verge of being as imbalanced and half-mad as I’d been when I was a child and nightmares were all I knew, besides the soothing voices and soft hands of my family.

So then Occlumency over winter Hols took my time, and when I came back with a much calmer and stronger mind, Sirius Black was suddenly there. So now my time was eaten by Legilimency, tearing down my Occlumency shields _again_ , and keeping an eye on Fate and how she was reacting to all the work I’d done over the year… It was a tangled mess and I neglected a lot of things, a lot of issues, and a lot of people to get what I needed done.

My letters to Bill and Charlie were… Yeah. No, Percy took those over, and it was all I could do to drop by the Gryffindor table to sign off on those, and letters to Mum and Dad that he more often wrote. Luna hadn’t seen me in weeks; I’d send “presents” to her tormentors once in a while to remind them of who I was, but I hadn’t managed to speak to her — the only reason I knew she was alright was Josie keeping tabs through her Ravenclaw contacts, and Nate having the ‘Claw firsties report to him on my behalf. I honestly don’t think I’ve done tutoring in weeks — everyone else banded together to take care of that. Healing? I still sucked at it. Ward schemes? A few doodles here and there, but nothing compared to the studying I'd down last year. Drawing? A joke.

Oh, and I can’t forget the last one I neglected:

Draco Malfoy.

Once I steamrolled over him for the _parvus_ , he sort of fell to the wayside. Him and all his camp; they weren’t bullied or anything, but I kept them away from my first circle and the younger, more impressionable kids, and I kept assigning them separate escort groups and tutoring sessions and mentors. Keep them apart, keep them from plotting, was the idea. Hadn’t heard anything from Malfoy or his followers since I beat him, really.

Which is why I was rather surprised when I ran into him.

I blinked at Malfoy, who blinked back.

“Who had the gall to hit _you?”_ I blurted out, too surprised and uncaring of the audience to really slip into the _regina_ persona.

We were just passing each other in the corridors, but I couldn’t help but notice the bruise on his face and the dried blood he was rubbing from his nose. He had Crabbe and Goyle with him, as usual, and I happened to be alone, trying to get to History of Magic before Nate had my head. Boy loved his history, he did.

Malfoy sneered at me. “Move along, Weasley, I’ve had to suffer looking at too many of you already.”

“Weak, Malfoy. Weakest you’ve ever given me.” I tutted, shaking my head.

(Because, obviously, if I could annoy Malfoy, I would. It was just a rule. Dad would be ashamed if I did anything less.)

A glare. “You ought to get to class, Weasley. Merlin _knows_ your family needs all the workers it gets. D’your brothers even keep _half_ their pay, supporting the hovel you live in?”

I ignored the insult and smiled brightly, channeling my inner Harper and telling my pissier side to shut up. “There you are! But really, who hit you? Was it a girl? Is that why you won’t say? You wizards and your patriarchal ideals and pride, really.”

Malfoy sneered again. “I don’t have the breath to waste on you. Piss off!”

I crossed my arms, grinning. “Is it because you used that breath running away from the girl who hit you? You might need to start exercising, Malfoy, I think I see her behind you now.”

He almost turned, but caught himself and narrowed his eyes at me. “Malfoy’s aren’t afraid of anyone, including little girls who can’t keep their fat mouths shut. Move _along_ Weasley.”

“Proud of that one, are you, Malfoy?” I taunted, “Do you write your snipes in your diary, hide them away ’til the day we…”

I trailed off. Malfoy had gone very, very pale — the bruise on his face was vivid because of it. His eyes seemed to glaze over, just a little bit. I jolted at the sight, because I really recognized that look in his eyes; Sirius Black used to have that same look. Distant eyes, struggling to return to the present, pale skin and shaking hands. Crabbe and Goyle shifted uncomfortably behind him, looking nervous as I stared at Malfoy. Why had he-

Wait.

I’d said… ‘diary.’

Fuck.

(I blame Sirius entirely for what happened next.)

A smooth, fluid movement had me near Malfoy, but not near enough for him to be able to lash out. My hand reached out and gently pushed his hand up, turning it over so the palm was facing me, shaking and clammy. I made sure not to encircle or trap him in any way, and pushed chocolate into his hands. Crabbe and Goyle were giving me _very_ odd looks, much more baffled-looking than they normally were, but I pushed Malfoy's filled hands to his throat, being very careful not to startle him.

“Eat that, alright? It’ll make you feel better. Not poisoned, I promise. It’s chocolate. Just let it melt in your mouth, you’ll feel better, promise.” I murmured lowly, eyes darting from his hands to his face.

What I didn’t expect was for Malfoy to instantly come back. Sirius’ case, he had to be coaxed out; the cloudiness of being trapped in the past took sometimes up to half an hour to clear. Malfoy snapped back to reality as soon as I spoke to him, grey eyes clearing and widening and meeting mine. We blinked at each other again, and I felt myself flush a little as I jerked back and got out of his space, looking at my traitorous hands.

Why… The little shit was _parvus_ , sure, but he was a git and not Sirius Black — why did I treat him like he was???

When I looked up, he was gazing determinedly to the left with his hands at his sides. There was something in his mouth, and I would bet anything it was chocolate. The chocolate I gave him, because I thought he was very much like Sirius Black for a nanosecond of my time. Ergh. A _Malfoy_ being one of mine…

Fuck, I was  _losing_ it.

“What are you playing at?” he demanded, still not meeting my eyes.

I felt the embarrassment hard. Oh my god, I’d just been nice to _Git Lord_ here. 

“I said the… It’s not like I was a huge prat on purpose, you know! I never mention that sort of thing around Dietrich, and you were the one who was actually… Anyways. It was crappy for me to say so I made up for it without thinking, Malfoy. Don’t mention it. Ever.”

He finally looked at me, snapping, “I don’t want your pity!”

This little… “It’s not bloody pity, you stupid bastard, it’s common decency! Don’t you snap at me!”

“Then don’t pity me, _cow!_ I’m not your pathetic gargoyle of a Second, needing coddling to feel better about myself! Unlike you and your entirely too codependent camp, _I_ am strong enough to see past my challenges alone.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m allowed to just walk all over your issues as I like! If we were dueling or in front of my _potesta_ members that’d be different, but I was literally about to pass you in the hall — Sorry I have bloody morals, Malfoy! Shut up and stop talking about it!” I hissed, feeling paranoid all of a sudden that someone would pass through this hallway and see me being _nice_ to Malfoy.

Forget the Sirius Black or the cambion thing, Dad _would murder me in my sleep_ if he knew about this.

“You’re an _idiot_ , Weasley.”

“Want a matching set of bruises, Malfoy? I’m not left-handed, but I could manage something.”

“As if you could muster the strength. Slytherin knows how often you’re in the Hospital Wing.”

…I knew how to throw a punch. That’s one of the first things Bill made _sure_ I knew how to do. Me and Ginny both knew how to punch someone, because we were pretty cute kids back then. All sorts of bad things happened to cute kids who had a tendency to run around amuck. I could do it. Punch him. I was weak and sickly in this life, but I’m sure I could spare a little energy to deck Draco Malfoy. If Hermione could do it — because I _know_ it was her who did this, what a girl, that Hermione, I really should be better friends with her — then so could I…

“Bloody barbarian, of course you’d actually want to.” Malfoy muttered, probably to himself.

I frowned at him.

Honestly, I’d really forgotten about him. Not entirely, of course, but I’d delegated since I’d stepped up as _parvus potesta_ reigning, and if I wasn’t incorrect, Jay was the one I asked to keep an eye on him and his camp, since Jay wouldn’t take advantage of power over Malfoy like I _know_ Dietrich or Lu would. Or Harper, on behalf of the other two. Nate was no question, obviously, he messed with anything that could feel irritation. So basically, Malfoy was someone else’s responsibility since I’d dueled and defeated him.

He was… quieter. I mean, since the beginning of this entire year, he’d been quieter than in my first year; but he owed me a pseudo-Life Debt and he been honoring that. Kinda. Is what Zabini the younger told me. And I’d sort of trampled over it in my quest to take his throne, but Malfoy hadn’t made any fuss. Jay assured me that he was simply licking his wounds, and Nate confirmed the same, but I really expected… more? Sure, he pissed my brother off on a daily, but honestly, a Malfoy in close proximity with a Weasley was just going to do that. The odd thing was, Malfoy had done nothing to _me._

(…I wondered if he remembered what it was like, if it hurt, if he _realized_ , to feel his magic and control being ripped away from him by the same, calm voice who sympathized with all his trials and congratulated his triumphs.)

I grabbed my wand from its holster at my side and flicked it at Malfoy before he realized. Crabbe and Goyle flinched at the movement, and one of them growled as soon as my spells were whispered, stepping forward. Malfoy himself had winced backward, hands covering his face.

The spells I’d said were, _Aresco Contusa, Episkey,_ and _Scourgify._

“Wait!” Malfoy said sharply.

Crabbe-or-Goyle paused, all of us looking at him. His hands lowered. The bruise on his face withered, if there had been a bleeding injury it healed, and the blood was cleaned off. No proof at all that Hermione Granger decked him.

He glowered at me. “What are you doing.”

Brava, I thought to myself. He’d probably trained with Snape over the summer, right? Occlumency? He had that same ‘I’m asking a question without any inflection and I demand an answer’ sort of vibe, though I wasn’t intimidated at _Malfoy_ of all people.

(…I wondered what exactly the diary whispered to him, how desperate and angry and aching he must have been, to have trust the barest touch of his soul to it, a touch that became controlling fingers, fistfuls of magic that was _his_ but was taken anyways, taken and taken and taken and only empty words in given in return — what did it feel like, knowing suddenly, seeing the hands gripping his soul and the nothing behind the friendly smiles?)

“Don’t mention the apology, and I don’t mention this.” I said matter-of-factly.

Malfoy looked supremely annoyed. “And neither of us mention that an actual civil conversation went on between us. Merlin knows the world will end if anyone believes it, anyways.”

I nodded. “I’ll agree, but only because I don’t want to cause any heart attacks.”

He sniggered, and then we both went very still, looking at each other.

“Oh Merlin, I actually laughed at something from _your_ own mouth. What sort of Calming Charm did you put on me, Weasley?” muttered Malfoy.

I shook my head. “We never mention this. Bye, Malfoy, I’ll piss off now.”

“About time. I don’t know how long I’d’ve been able to stand the stench.”

“Not nearly as long as I’ve had to stand looking at your ugly face.” I called, trotting to class, knowing this would really piss Nate and Lu and Dietrich off once I told them. They were the ones who despised Malfoy the most of mine, after all.

(…I wondered if it was as heart-wrenching and horrifying as the panic and betrayal I felt, if he grieved for his lost friend, if he was furious that he left in the first place, if he was bewildered by all of these things, festering in his head and held back by string-thin Occlumency.)

 

**…**

 

“It is not going to work, you know.”

I looked at Dietrich. He was looking at Bole, who was about to walk up to us. Just getting up the courage, I suppose, all surrounded by his friends and puffing his chest up as they spoke to him loudly. The din of the common room meant I couldn’t hear them, but I didn’t need to. He’d been looking twitchy for a while now, Bole.

“His bid for power? Of course not, a _troll_ thinks faster than he does,” scoffed Lu offhandedly. He was lazing about on the couches to my right.

“True,” Dietrich agreed with a incline of his head, “But I was speaking of the Quidditch team. Trying to disable Potter before the next game. It will not work. I cannot believe Zabini is allowing her _potesta_ to try. Wood is too cautious; Potter will have a guard.”

Ah, yes. The Slytherin Quidditch team was getting desperate and ridiculous, trying to injure Harry before the final. The only reason I wasn’t doing anything about it was that I knew it wouldn’t work, and I’d Seen Harry playing well enough without any interference.

I laughed. “Damn right he will. Wood’s _insane._ ”

Lu sniffed indignantly. “Loving Quidditch doesn’t mean you’re _insane.”_

Harper grinned. “But you’re insane, so your opinion doesn’t count, Lulu!”

“STOP CALLING ME THAT, HARPER!”

Just as an inane argument was about to break out, Bole strode up to us proudly. We raised our heads as one; Dietrich and I looked cold, Lu and Nate smug, and Harper and Jay condescendingly smiling.Our normal roles, of course. Bole walked until he was standing right in front of where I was sitting, towering over me, those of his support standing off a ways — waiting. The seventh challenge this month by his camp, and finally I was getting the ringleader… how nice.

(Josie offered to put him down for me, but I had dismissed her. Had to fight my own battles. That, and owing Josie favors was _the worst_ because she was a cunning little bastard, and I admired her all the more for it.)

“Leaves a sour taste in my mouth,” Bole started faux-casually, “to have a bloodtraitor at the top of the lesser control.”

I smiled sweetly. “Perhaps if I cursed out your tongue, you wouldn’t have any problems.”

(There was a spell for that. And the demon twins were just about to invent their Ton-Tongue Toffees, I’m sure Harper and I could modify the potion-base to suit our needs.)

Bole sneered. “Step down, Weasley. You’re no better than a Mudblood.”

Dietrich snarled in retaliation, “Which is still better than you, Bole. What position have you held in our House, that you believe you are better than us? You cannot take our control, not now; or can you not count?”

Harper snickered. “See, Bole, the lesser control is firsts through thirds. You’re a sixth, you can’t control us. 6 doesn’t go in between 1 and 3, see.”

“You do not _deserve_ the power you hold, _Weasley,_ ” he seethed, throwing a nasty glare at a giggling Harper, “And you taint purebloods with your thoughts. Filth! You don’t even know what you’re doing!”

My eyes flashed. I didn’t like the implication that I was messing around, being the _parvus potesta_ reigning. I worked my goddamn ass off all the time, keeping it together — we all did. And even if I didn’t know what I was doing, I put on a damn fine show of looking like I did, and I didn’t appreciate someone trying to sow seeds of doubt into my _parvus._

“You’re just nervous for the Slytherin match,” Harper said before I could hiss something insulting, shaking his head, “It’s not healthy for you to be that obsessed, Bole. We were just talking about it here, how it’s rude that you tried to break up the inter-House Quidditch games we’ve been having recently.”

(The ones Harry kickstarted and Lu and Harper continued to arrange. Something to keep them busy and flying.)

“And I suppose you all, traitors you are, will support Gryffindor?” he hissed.

“I’m _on_ the Quidditch team reserves,” Lu muttered incredulously, “I’m one of the Chasers, how has he not remembered this?”

Harper snorted at him, covering his grin with his hands.

“We support our friends and allies,” Nate intoned more loudly, lips curling into his smirk that said something along the lines of ‘I’m-going-to-kill-you-slowly-so-just-wait-for-it’, “If you can’t tell, Bole, you’re on neither list. Besides... if you made it on the team, I can’t imagine our House winning.”

Bole rose up to his full height. It would’ve been intimidating if I were alone, since he was built like a Beater and a gorilla’s lovechild. “When the _magnus potesta_ celebrates the Cup, I will watch you all fall out of power and into the filth you deserve.”

“I’m fairly certain _I’m_ watching you make a fool of yourself, Bole,” I said coolly, “I’ll be supporting mine. Lucas Vaisey, Tristan Harper, and Harry Potter _are mine._ ” I smiled at him again. “Those two are Vaisey and Harper, by the way. Slytherins. Oh, and Harry Potter is a Gryffindor. That’s both teams, Bole. Understand? Both.”

“ _Puttana!”_ he spat at me.

I twitched a little. “Was that Italian? Funny, I can say things in other languages, too. _Va te faire foutre, idiot sans talent._ ”

Harper gasped. “Lyssie, where did you learn to swear like that?!”

“Dietrich.” I replied with a shrug.

Bole growled as someone whispered the translation into his ear. (‘Go fuck yourself, you talentless idiot.’ or something. I only knew bits and pieces of French.) He stepped forward, his wand in his hand but not drawn up yet. It was in bad taste to start a duel in the middle of the common room, where there were first years and stressed N.E.W.T. and O.W.L. students.

“You think you’re funny, do you?” he snarled, “Little whore. I’ll be the one laughing when everyone figures out that you got to power the same way Zabini did: empty promises and your pretty face.”

“Aw, he thinks you’re pretty!” Harper laughed.

“Shut up, Harper.” Bole bit out. The words were harsher, different, when it wasn’t one of us saying them. Harper grinned in response to them, but it was a touch more feral this time, too many teeth.

I arched a brow. “Oh, laughing, are we? Well, then. Nate, just as we practiced?”

Nate grinned, wide and shark-like. “My pleasure, Lys. _Rictumsempra.”_

Bole burst into a fit of hysterical laughter as Nate’s overpowered Tickling Charm hit him, and Dietrich was a dear and _Silencio_ ’d him for us all. Nate didn’t let the Charm off, though, and we all watched with faces of boredom — though I noticed much of the room shrank back as they watched the scene — as Bole retreated backwards, stumbling all over his camp, collapsing and looking pained even as he laughed.

“Laughing that much isn’t good for you,” Jay commented airily, “You might suffocate, Bole.”

( _Bravo, Jay,_ I thought to myself. He looked quite evil there, finally suiting his favorite chair. Very smug, but smiling prettily.)

Bole’s face began to redden. I nodded to Nate, who let off the charm and did well in concealing how much that had tired him — overpowering such a weak spell like that took quite a bit, after all. And Nate’s core wasn’t the largest; second smallest of all of us, actually. Dietrich took away the Silencing Charm, and the common room was filled with Bole’s gasping breaths.

“Don’t call me a whore again, Bole,” I said pleasantly.

Bole scurried off to his own friends, and it was a peaceful afternoon in the Slytherin dorms after that. The first-years couldn’t even look at me without flinching; I guess watching their supposed leader almost kill someone with a charm even _they_ knew was a bit frightening. I didn’t think I’d get any challenges from them anymore, even as Astoria Greengrass sniffed indignantly at the display. I did notice some eyes flicker towards Adaline Mercer, my favorite firstie — considering grooming her for _parvus potesta_ once I moved up to the _magnus_ , actually — consideringly. Seems her closeness to my first circle was being thought about more positively, with all our displays of superiority these last few weeks.

(Every time someone tried to debase us, it only made us look better. I was _so glad_ I had a mouth quick to insult and a clever mind this time around, honestly. And _dear Merlin,_ I owed Nate and Dietrich a lot for keeping our camp so well while I was busy.)

Lu muttered, “You’re too bloodthirsty sometimes, Lys. Scare all the fun away.”

Jay laughed softly. “It stopped being fun the third challenge, Lu. I’m happy to concentrate on my studies, now that Lys has driven the first-years into submission and the third-years into caution.”

That set off a debate between Jay and Nate and Dietrich, the brainiest of my boys, and Lu and Harper groaned, chucking quills at each other in boredom. Those two didn’t care much for the power struggle analyzation, really, they just liked fighting with others. It was Nate who enjoyed playing mental chess the most, though Dietrich and Jay would certainly step in if I needed them to.

 

**…**

 

_Stand before her. No, not stand. You do not stand anymore. There is nothing around you, you are swimming in magic. Your chest aches and the chains have rubbed the skin away, but you can only feel it faintly. There is blood everywhere but you do not need it. Stand before her. She is the same._

_You do not ask. You do not need to ask._

_Her gaze passes over you. It is colder than anything in this world, and that dull ache in your chest sharpens. It is the only feeling now, the ache, and the longing when she passes. Her dresses used to rustle and drag on stone and that’s how you marked her footsteps, her bright eyes, her smile. She does not stand anymore._

_You are swimming in magic, both of you, forever and eternity, and it aches._

_You do not ask._

_You do not ask._

_You will not be forgiven._

**Move on, Lys. You’re getting stuck. Go on-**

_The woods are young now, saplings and smooth bark. Sunlight streams through the leaves and casts green shadows on the earth. The air is fresh. Your wand is in your hand, sparking in your fingers, warm and proud, the scar on the handle from two years ago is still there. Your brother has always laughed at that story, but you cannot think of that now._

_You hunt._

_Call her name. She is hidden from you. Her mother was crying when she sent you. Her mother was soft and hunched with age, with weariness, with grief. She looks like her mother but softer and gentler and so much more fragile. You just want to bring her back, Lady Ravenclaw said if you did she would finally finally finally be yours; she, who was once out of your reach, could finally be yours. No more midnight meetings and lowered eyes and coy smiles and-_

**Oh, gag me.**

_Reaching for the light. Mother is making it dance in circles around you just the way you like, bright and fuzzy and warm. You chase, but you can’t grab, why, how, it’s pretty and you want it! Take it into your hands and Mother laughs. It morphs, darkens, solidifies, and is a moth, fluttering dull wings against your palms, fuzzy legs tickling your fingers. Laugh._

**Shut up, Sirius! These are memories, he can’t control what he feels.**

**I did not want to know this much about the Bloody Baron, Lyssie. Not now, not ever.**

_The Great Hall is resplendent. You have never seen so many other wizards and witches before. Someone reaches for you and you flinch. They have called you Devil Child before, and you’ve strangled their livestock wandlessly out of anger for it. Prove them right. It’s what they want. Someone reaches for you and you flinch, but they wince, and you laugh at each other. She’s lovely, dark hair and tanned skin and big, grey eyes._

_She asks if you have had a hard time out with the mundane. You reply you have._

_She smiles soft and sure. “þes bæcern sy gebeterung.”_

_This place is better._

_She reaches for you again, and you do not flinch. Her hand folds over yours comfortingly. The Hat is singing. Four figures in red and green and blue and yellow are standing behind it, waiting. The candles are dripping but the wax isn’t falling down. It’s resplendent. Her hand is warm and yours is shaking, but she says not to be afraid. See? That woman there. That’s her mother, and Lady Ravenclaw is kind. They’re all kind, in their own ways._

**Yeah, but guess what?**

**What?**

_“þes bæcern sy gebeterung,” she says again, reassuring you._

_You do not flinch. You wait, hand in hand._

**I’m talking back to you. Know what that means?**

_“SLYTHERIN!”_

_The man in silver and green, calm-eyed and regal, smirks at the one in red and gold. The other scowls good-naturedly, flicks his wand, a spell that is blocked. Amazing, you think. Magic so casually used, no fear of mundane and their love of fire, no watchful eyes or hushing Mother or terrified little sisters being dragged off by men dressed in crosses._

_Devil Child, Devil Child, they call you. You hate those words._

_They called her that, too, but she was killed for it. You strangled their livestock in anger and watched them starve the same way they watched her burn. The same way everyone watched Father be stoned to death in the last village, too, though he had no magic. He said he did so your older brother wouldn’t be taken. Your older brother was taken anyways. They watched him hang from a tree, the same way. You watched, they called you all Devil Child, you hate those words, you curled your fingers around their trusting throats, you watched them starve the same way._

_With a smile._

**Merlin, we did it. You’re talking back- You’re fully cognizant! You can completely separate from the memories!**

**And it only took a few weeks.**

**You say- Wait. You _think_ that like that’s bad progress, but this is utterly unfair, Lys. Seers and their inclination towards the Mind Arts is ridiculous. And you’re Dark, so your Legilimency is natural. Unbelievable.**

_She meets you in the Astronomy Tower, grinning. Lord Gryffindor likes to say that your impulsiveness should have placed you in his House. Surely her boldness would’ve done the same. But she is like her mother, in looks and thirst for knowledge, so she wears the blue and bronze as surely as you wear the silver and green. She calls Lord Gryffindor her Uncle Gryff, and your own House Head Uncle Laz. Their children are her cousins._

_You long to be one of them. Not for closeness, because you are closer to her than any other, but because their status is greater and they might ask for her one day. You are not noble enough. You used to hide in barns and outhouses with Mother — weak, weaker, her will to live draining as your brother and Father and your sister do not ever come home — just to stay away from the fires. You have grown up called Devil Child. You hate those words. You were not born into this world of magic, you cannot navigate it as easily as a salmon the river._

_You do not swim in magic like they do._

**Well, then. I really don’t want to see more, now that we’ve gotten the dye mix right and you’ve got practice. I suppose you sacrificed some control in the target mind to be able to connect to your anchor…**

**We’ll have to fix that. If I can’t find Pettigrew’s memories while also conferring with you, it’s moot point. And with that much blood… I’m not sure I can give that much blood and be a stable anchor, Sirius.**

_Don’t take me back there, she begs._

_But you belong there, with your uncles and aunt and mother. With your cousins. Please._

_She refuses. You don’t understand what it’s like, she screams, you don’t understand what it is to always be compared to a woman without equal! Mother is peerless and everyone expects me to be better, but I’m only ME!_

_You want to tell her that she is enough._

_(She sobs and screams about such things while Mother is wasting away in nothingness, while your sister is ashes and blackened bones buried in nowhere, while Father’s blood has rusted into the stones they buried him under, while your brother is rotted meat hanging from an old oak alongside the silvery moss, twisting and turning as the wind blows.)_

_(She says you do not understand.)_

**Agreed, but we’ll take care of it on the outside. Discuss. Recollect. Care to follow me out, Lys?**

**With pleasure. I don’t like intruding this much. And I think my head hurts, but I can’t really tell.**

**Hm. Less connected to your home mind, too. That’s a bit troubling.**

_You don’t understand._

_She will not go back. Why? You cannot fail this. You cannot understand. You just want one thing and she wants a thousand. Why does she do this? You are angry, because she refuses for selfish reasons. You take her hands in yours and say that her home is a better place, even if the forest is young and lovely, and she belongs there. Doesn’t she? If he brings her back, he can ask for her hand, and they will be home and together, and isn’t that what they’ve always wanted?_

_What you always wanted, she spits, Not me._

_Why not her? Why?_

_I will not go back, she says._

_You will drag her back if you have to. She will forgive in time, but she must go home. It’s dangerous. Women are burned and men are stoned here, and she cannot die, you will not let her. You will drag her back._

_She’s angry. She’s furious. She says if you loved her and understood, you would let her go._

_You don’t understand, but you love. You will bring her back. Whatever it takes._

_Monster, she calls you._

_Devil Child._

_You love her. You don’t understand._

_YoU hAtE ThOSe woRdS._

**Ah fuck, fuck, fuck, get us out, I don’t really want to see another murder-**

**Alright, alright, come on, then.**

 

**…**

 

I  ~~ _we_ ~~ opened my  ~~ _our_ ~~ eyes.

The Blood Baron  ~~ _blood chains oh that’s why_ ~~ looked uncharacteristically dazed, though he seemed to recover admirably well once I took a step back and broke eye contact properly. My temples decided to throb right then, and I winced at the (unfortunately) familiar feeling.  ~~ _she stepped back grimacing was she okay?_ ~~

Sirius was sitting on the rug to my right, his hair pulled back into a scraggly tail  ~~ _uncomfortable pulls hurts_ ~~ so the runic matrix was visible, drawn onto his forehead. His robes were open, too, showing the one on his chest a little, too. The interlocking circles and triangles and the sharp curves  ~~ _so bloody intricate these ritual runes_ ~~ of the runes were dried already, rust-brown on his pale skin.  ~~ _same runes on you drew your own, rather impressive_ ~~ He was looking at me in concern.

“I’m okay,” I told him.

He nodded knowingly. “Headache.” Then he frowned. “You’re having trouble breathing.”

My throat felt full  ~~ _not good she used too much magic_ ~~ but it was bearable. My lungs felt fine. I cast a Tempus  ~~ _wait should she be using that much magic?_ ~~ and scowled. We’d been in the Baron’s mind for nearly two hours. And I’d been practicing Patronuses  ~~ _dog protector mine_ ~~ with the boys earlier today, so my reserves were a little thin…

“Your Patronus is your Animagus form?” I asked incredulously, blinking at the hazy memories of a Patronus running about, just like Padfoot but made of blinding white and trailing pale wisps of smoke behind.

~~ _that’s my Patronus yes_ ~~

“You don’t need your breathing potion, do you?” Sirius asked.

No, I was quite sure no attacks were incoming. I just strained a little, probably hyperventilated a bit while we were in the target mind.

Sirius nodded.  ~~ _right yes fine warn next time_ ~~

Speaking of the target mind…

I looked at the Bloody Baron. Not kindly, because that might indicate pityingly, and Slytherins hated being pitied.  ~~ _so difficult you snakes I would know Mother was like that they all were_ ~~ He was a Slytherin, this one, even if some thought — once upon a time — that he should have been a Gryffindor.

“You alright, Baron?” I asked him.

The ghost nodded slowly. Still disoriented, I think.  ~~ _stuck in memories just like me_ ~~ “It is a rare thing, indeed, for a ghost to undergo Legilimency. So few people know that Mind Magics are the only magics the dead are capable of.”

~~ _Prevett discovered that_ ~~

I barely blinked at the information Sirius' mind was unconsciously supplying. “Because Hevlynya Prevett’s research was all blacklisted?”

The Baron nodded again. Less hazy-eyed, this time. “The Mind Eater was a witch to be feared, little snake. That so much of her life’s work is burned out of that fear… It is a tragedy. She was brilliant. I remember her as a child.”

~~ _what?_ ~~

“What?” “Really?”

Sirius and I glanced at each other, but then turned to the Bloody Baron expectantly. The ghost looked slightly amused. “Two weeks, I have watched your minds weld together, both in my mind and out of it, and it is still…”

“Disconcerting?” Sirius and I answered together.

The Bloody Baron looked even more amused, which I didn’t think was possible without a smile at this point. “Yes.”

“Thank you again,” I sighed, rubbing my temples and trying to alleviate the pain, “I’m amazed at how patient you are, Baron. I thought we’d never get to this point after our first bumbling attempt at this anchor business.”

“Enough thanks, little snake. I find myself… tired. You are the same, I am sure,” the Bloody Baron said quietly, no doubt remembering all the memories we’d sifted through today. “I will take my leave. Until tomorrow night.”

I had the feeling he was going to go sulk after we charged through all the things he didn’t want anyone to see. Which. Well. Understandable, of course. I learned quite a bit about the Bloody Baryon and the Grey Lady’s backstory these two weeks.  ~~ _too much_ ~~ Too much, really. I wondered why he was letting us do this to him, not for the first time, and probably not for the last, as his pale form phased through the walls and away.

“What did he want in return for this, Lys?” Sirius asked.

I looked at him in surprise. He scowled.

“I was Slytherin-raised, you know. Don’t act so surprised.”

I snorted. “Well, pardon me for being shocked that you can think so clearly after that first disaster of a conjoined Legilimency session. Cleaned out our entire stock of chocolate, the two of us, and if the Bloody Baron could eat, I’d have given him some, too-”

~~ _nose is bleeding_ ~~

“Oh, dammit.” I muttered, touching at my nose and feeling warm dripping down. My fingers came away with smeared blood.

“Bloody hell, Lyssie,” Sirius muttered, getting up and snagging tissues from one of the boxes scattered on the floor.

He walked over, handing me the tissues.  ~~ _is she alright this time around?_ ~~ I started to wipe at my face, knowing I was smearing it all over my face and not really cleaning at all. Stupid nosebleeds. Wasn’t so bad, though, a very… mild warning from my body about my magic usage today. Sirius hovered like a concerned and well-meaning but incompetent parent.

“Hey! I resent that,” he muttered, mockingly affronted.  ~~ _so rude_ ~~

A little smile crept out onto my lips. That was… comforting. Three months ago, Sirius Black hadn’t even been able to support the weight of his own skeleton, let alone spend energy casting magic all over the place. Two months ago, he got more lost in his head than he didn’t, and I had to coax his mind into stillness and shove chocolate in his mouth to make sure he was lucid for the limited time we had. A month ago, he was still unsure, unsteady, wondering if it was alright to be casual in such a tense environment.

Now? Well. I’m sure he was a far cry from the man he’d been before Azkaban, but I could really see it in him sometimes.

“Hm. I think I understand your little snake friends a bit better now,” Sirius muttered.

My nose stopped bleeding already, and I glanced at my core to see if it was up to an _Aguamenti_ or gentle _Scourgify_ at the moment.  ~~ _it’s not please don’t stress your core dammit Lys_ ~~ “What do you mean? And my core’s fine.” I asked distractedly.

Sirius settled back onto the floor, elbows leaning on his knees casually, grinning up at me. “The anchor connection is still pretty strong, you know. I’ve been getting bits and pieces even if you’re Occluding, because of your semi-permeable barriers. You really care about your people, don’t you?”

I scowled at him. “Are you making fun of me?”

“Me? Make fun of you? Never. Let’s go over that, shall we?”

I sat down across from him.  ~~ _her runes are smudged and she’s tired looking but much better than before good_ ~~ “I _am_ better than a few weeks back — thank Nate for that, I think we both owe him — but let’s try and be quick about it. I’ve been averaging six hours of sleep a night and that’s a bloody record for me. I’d like to keep it up if I can.”

~~ _they’re getting suspicious aren’t they_ ~~

My boys were. Nate was faithfully keeping my secret, and I think that Jay was aware but not saying anything or asking questions about why I was sneaking away so much this year, but Lu and Harper were getting annoyed at how tired I was all the time. We were all used to exhaustion for a few weeks, since we were the _parvus potesta_ reigning, but three months was a little… And once Lu and Harper got suspicious, it was only right that Dietrich — as busy as he was with his own things — would notice something off, too. Not to mention, I was getting antsier as the year was drawing to a close and I hadn’t perfected this yet. They were watching, and I didn’t want…

Well. I didn’t want them involved in this. Peter Pettigrew was… well, he was Harry’s and Sirius’ and my family’s, and if I could keep the boys from this choice, I would. This was family business, the boys were all doing so well (Harper learned the _Patronus_ for fuck’s sake!  ~~ _not bad for a kid good form_ ~~ ) and I wouldn’t condemn them to the price I was paying, or drag them into my family’s — Gryffindor — problems.

The last time I tried to snoop into their things or allowed them to snoop into mine, Dietrich was dragged into the Chamber of Secrets. Dietrich can’t hear the word ‘diary’ and always gets a dark look on his face when I show my colors’ rendition and the crimson sits there, enfolded with the indigos and silvers and blues. Dietrich has been sneaking away just as often as I have, dueling and practicing and becoming strong because he hates that he was weak.

(As if that matters. He was _eleven._ He was my best friend. He shouldn’t have been fighting the basilisk or Tom Riddle in the first place.)

“Lys,” Sirius called quietly, “It’s alright. You’re not going at this alone. I might be a bit broken, but we’re doing this together. It’s not… the same.”

~~ _they hate that you’re alone when you fight but you’re not so it’s okay don’t be guilty_ ~~

“Correction,” I replied with a lightness I didn’t feel, “Everyone who scolds me hates that I go off on my own _without them_. But I’m not bringing my friends into this, Sirius. I’ve already put targets on their back with rising to _parvus potesta_ reigning, being a bloodtraitor, all that. It’s hard enough for them, and they deserve to be normal.”

“…I should be the one guilty, you know,” Sirius pointed out wryly, “I’m using a twelve-year-old girl to get my revenge and clear my name. You’re the youngest of them, aren’t you? I should be the one lamenting your lost innocence, or something.”

I smiled sardonically. “One of the first nightmares I ever had was my mother finding the remains of her brothers, Sirius. I was five years old. I’ve been fighting to protect the rest of mine from that sort of grief since. I won’t let mine ever make the sounds my mother made when she saw my uncles hanging like… like they were… I won’t let it happen again.” I grinned, teeth gritted and bared. “That’s why Pettigrew’s going to suffer before I leave his head.”

Sirius smiled just as ruthlessly as I was. “I should be the one guilty. But all I feel is anticipation, Lys. I want this over with. I’ve waited your entire lifetime for this.”

“Soon,” I promised.

_~~soon~~ ,_ came the echo.


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...I am _so sorry_ this is so damn late. I'm the worst, I know, but just know that all you guys talking to me about the characters and the plot through your comments is _SUPER_ inspiring and the lateness is my own problem. Motivation is hard in the summer, even for something I like doing, who knew?
> 
> This. THIS is the last chapter before the climax of the arc, thank fuck. Please enjoy (despite the choppiness, good god, I rewrote this chapter seven times), and I'm sorry again, and thank you all for your support. :3

 

**…**

 

_Once more,_ I promised.

(My head throbbed. I felt a jolt of worry that didn’t belong to me, but we were disconnected enough now that Occlumency barriers were okay. I ignored it. My head throbbed.)

_Once more, today._

(There was an icy feeling on my forehead, then, soothing it. Didn’t stop the pain in my head traveling down my neck, pricking my chest, the center within my rib cage. My magic was resisting, pleading with me to stop, but I _couldn’t_ , didn’t it understand?)

_Once… more…_

(It was dark, and there were clouds of color glowing through that darkness. Deep, deep indigo, strings like glinting silver, blackening edges that rippled with deep, deep red. The indigo, the blues, the gentle grey-dark-teal and flickers of gold were shying away. The magic was smaller than it should be, tired, spent. I reached forward.)

_Just once more. I’m so close. Please._

(The deep crimson answered. It curled around me, deeper and darker than blood.)

_Once upon a time, she read to them — flick of her wrist, the wand twisted and the ribbon of water — catching the light oddly. She swung her arm, the water followed, steam a hissing trail, finding its mark. — “OW!” he cried, laughing, since she was laughing too — “Josie, please.” “Er- What?” “Josie. Only Blaise and his mum call me that,” “…Josie, then.” — letter in her pocket, burning a hole into her robes, she glanced at it. The boy across gave her a cold look and a sneer and she imagined that face, that expression, that condescension, every day of the rest of her life._

_Stop._

_Sirius Black reached over, hand landing on a head of deep red hair, messing with it as he laughed and she protested, but blue eyes were as bright with amusement as grey, so — “Thank you, Lys,” he whispered, palms of his hands rubbing into his eyes, “Thank you.” — “You’ve become one of mine, Black, so I suppose I couldn’t do anything less.” — aren’t going to kill the rat, need to cage him. He didn’t have a wand, though, he was powerless-_

_Stop._

_“Don’t push yourself, Lys. You’re young, yet.”_

_“Meaning my core can take a bit more punishment than yours. We have to do this, Sirius. You know why. They’re waiting.”_

_“I know- I know. We… We have to hurry.”_

_Stop._

_Blood splattered — her hand clutched her chest, nails digging into skin — red on white, black by moonlight — “LYS! Get back, get back-” he screamed, pushing her back — ??? — couldn’t breathe, blood was dripping down her nose, the taste of copper on her lips as she grimaced but tried to grin. He touched her shoulder, questioning, and she — “Last day of exams, isn’t it? Divination is one of the last exams for your year, I think-” she questioned, watching the boy with flaming red hair. They looked similar, but he was bigger — ? — taller and she was slight, but? — “THEN YOU SHOULD’VE DIED!” screamed her friend, his eyes crazed, hands trembling with anger. She reached out to touch his arm, reminding him, looking understanding and angry and — ??? — the moon rose above. The brightest nights of the sky were — “Jay, I have to go. It’s- I have to go.”_

_Stop._

_It will happen tonight ??? — “Goodbye,” he mouthed._

_Stop._

_“…Just come back. You can come back with a concussion again if you need to, just come back.” — smiled. A hand halted her progress, she gripped at her skirt and shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably, breathing hard. — ??? — Josephine reached for the girl with red hair and cool eyes, shaking her hand agreeably. — ??? — “Are you weak?” — It will happen — happen — ??? — “Mercer’s father works for the DMLE, too, you know. And she’s one of my favorites. So… Maybe I could ask if he won’t look after you a bit, Josie?” — Dietrich rolled his eyes as Harper laughed. “Of course you looked after Head Girl Zabini. Slytherin is practically yours.” Lu snickered._

_Stop._

_???_

_Stop._

_“He will return by the full moon. The Dark Lord lies alone and friendless, abandoned by his followers. His servant has been chained these long years. The full moon, the wolf’s moon… the servant will break free and set out to rejoin his master. The Dark Lord will rise again with his servant's aid, greater and more terrible than ever he was. The wolf’s moon calls… Fate intervenes… the servant... will set out... to rejoin... his master…”_

_Stop._

_Kindly brown eyes flashed with gold. Muscles rippled, flesh tore, clothing hung in rags with dark fur, and teeth gleamed. — “LYSSIE RUN!” — white fang sunk into bloody skin and she screamed and screamed and screamed — ??? — She smiled faintly. “I have to follow this choice. I locked myself into it. You understand don’t you?” — the moon rose and the wolf howled with it._

_The rat sat in his cage, and the girl with runes drawn into her forehead shrieked._

_Stop._

~~ _wake up dammit Lys no!_ ~~

“LYS!”

I gasped, feeling blood pooling in my mouth. Sirius was pawing at my face, sleeves stained with red  ~~ _have to stop the bleeding have to help oh god what have I done to this child_ ~~ and the Bloody Baron was watching with a mildly interested expression, his hand halfway through my forehead and the reason behind the icy coldness soothing the headache.

_Occlude, Sirius_ , I projected in my head as strongly as possible.

~~ _sorry sorry sorry I will I’m sorry Lys_ ~~

He was so guilty and worried that it almost _hurt._ And thinking about the headache, my chest _burned_ and I twisted over from my meditation position to spit the blood out on the floor, gagging as my throat decided to swallow the rest. The Bloody Baron’s hand was gone now, and he’d floated over a ways, watching the two mortals in the room flail with an expressionless face. Which was fine, I couldn’t worry about the man right now… I felt light-headed and dizzy and achey and _good god_ this was almost as bad as when I lifted the fucking river a mile or so down from my house and went into a coma. Meanwhile, Sirius was still fretting and looking a little sick and a lot worried.

“Sirius, get off, I’m okay-” I croaked.

“No, no, no, no, no! Not okay! I just bloody- I just- I was watching, and- and even if you were Occluding the link away, I could feel the pain, dammit, Lys!”

“The link’s that strong? I was meditating… and… we got out of the Baron’s mind hours ago…”

“Yes, well, I’m pretty sure it just gets stronger every time we have a go at Conjoined Memory Ward application, so it’s probably going to take a day at least for the anchor link to fade, even with Occlumency, and- No! Lys! Dammit, you said you just wanted to meditate and let your Clairvoyance express itself, encourage our minds to separate, not whatever _this_ was! What were you doing? Do you need a Blood Replenishment?”

“Calm, Heir Black-” the Baron said boredly.

“That’s Lord Black, you know-” Sirius mumbled, only to be ignored.

“-the young Seer retreated to Clairvoyance because neither you nor the little snake wish to encourage a permanent mind link. She likely needs to sort through whatever visions she asked for, for that purpose. She is halfway Sovereign, and that comes with a price,” he finished smoothly.

I nodded, wiping my mouth and probably only managing to smear blood all over my face. “I was… I was trying to see when we’d get our chance. For Pettigrew. I mean, to get him — Fate changed when you sought me out, you know, Sirius… before- before me… you would’ve grabbed him and all sorts of things would’ve happened that would lead to him getting away. Then I came into the picture…I wasn’t sure if it’d be the same.”

Sirius darkened at the implication that he would’ve failed his revenge — Pettigrew’s death or capture, both were the same in the end, really — if he hadn’t sought me out. “So we’ll succeed, now, then? Because you and I are working together… We’ll catch him? Is that what you saw?”

I coughed violently, trying to steady my breathing and my lungs. My head and heart both were protesting that much abuse of magic; I dug too deep into Fate’s possibilities, and it paid me in kind by making my lungs bleed. It was difficult to steady myself, my heart beating wildly and my head throbbing, memories of disjointed visions flashing through my head. The moon was prominent, a silver disc in the sky. Blood splattering walls with torn wallpaper and scratches gouged into the panels was prominent, too. And the screaming, the girl screaming, the girl who looked like…

“Rat in a cage, s’what I saw,” I murmured, “I saw more of the price, too.”

Sirius stiffened. “Lys…”

I shook my head again. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I’ve paid a lot of it already. Apparently my takeover of Slytherin was a key factor, something to do with all the kids in the _parvus_ who had parents in the DMLE. Plus Josie. Maybe that’s got something to do with his capture…”

A warm, large hand encompassed my shoulder. Sirius met my eyes solemnly. “Lys. Listen, you don’t have to tell me — or anyone — anything. You know I wouldn’t blame you if you had to hide things to keep the balance. S- My- My Uncle Sevens had to do that. Aunt Cedrella understood…” He shook his head, dislodging the beginnings of getting lost in his head, an odd feeling of something latching onto my thoughts, memories brought up without my say-so, washing over me. (Harper grinning as I hugged him, the Patronus on his wand; Dietrich smiling, a hand on my shoulder; Ginny tugging on my sleeve and plopping a poorly-wrapped present on my lap; Bill reading to me with a soft voice, me in his lap and the book in mine; Charlie pointing at the pictures in his magical creatures magazine; Mum and Dad; Luna with a crown of flowers on her head-)  ~~ _sorry Lys I’ll Occlude but I just had to use_ you _as_ my _anchor for a moment_~~ “Clairvoyance isn’t bound by time, Lyssie. You might pay for this later. I’d understand if you chose to keep quiet.”

“No,” I murmured, “it’s fine. Nothing I say will change anything at this point.” I smiled a bit, remembering what I’d Seen. “I have to follow this choice. I locked myself into it. You understand don’t you?”

Sirius nodded, giving my shoulder a light squeeze. “I do. But I wanted to be sure. You- You’ve done a lot for me, Lys. I wish the Clairvoyant didn’t have to pay the price… I wish you weren’t the only one suffering for helping me.”

“I don’t always pay the price,” I reminded him gently.

Dietrich’s pale face in the Chamber came to mind. Malfoy’s white-knuckled grip on his robes when we spoke last, as well. A crumbling bust and a last laugh that I could barely hear past my own pain was remembered, too.

_You are ridiculous, Guinevere._

“But you always suffer. That’s what it means, to be a Clairvoyant.” Sirius said.

I blinked. That was positively profound. “Did…?”

He nodded, smiling a little and probably having heard an echo of my flippant thoughts in his head. “Uncle… Uncle Sevens said that. To me… once. A long time ago, but… I’ve always remembered.”

I looked at my hands, streaked with drying red. The digits were tiny, dwarfed by the fingers resting reassuringly on my shoulder. “To be a Clairvoyant is to suffer, huh?” I chuckled a little, flexing my fingers. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

Sirius squeezed my shoulder again. “Hey. It’ll be okay. That’s what you Saw, right?”

I blinked, looking up at him. “Yeah.” 

Rat in a cage. A werewolf’s bite. Blood splattered on old, dusty wood. A young girl screaming.

“It’ll be okay.” I said.

_Remember, Lyssie? This is worth it,_ something said quietly in my head.

I grit my teeth, forcing that voice away. “I'm dead on my feet, though Sirius… I'll tell you everything tomorrow, if that's alright.”

Sirius leapt up, nodding furiously. “Of course, Lyssie. You need to bloody rest.”

Yes, I needed to bloody rest. I needed to rest and contemplate and prepare for this shitfest of an end of the year disaster. My mind was whirling as Sirius transformed and walked me out of the Shrieking Shack in Padfoot form. A werewolf bite… it was a singular moment, just like Pettigrew escaping. Pettigrew escaping had been an inevitability until I got here, and I changed it. Perhaps I could… Maybe I could…

Well. It was hard to think with my head hurting me, but I might be able to haggle with Fate a little. Once I rested a bit.

_ What's best for me and mine, and what's fair for everyone else. What's a werewolf bite or two, _   _Lyssie?_ asked that damn voice again.

_ I can't let it come to that. _

_ But…? _

My fingers tightened where they were clamped around my robes and Sirius' fur. He didn't complain, and neither did my robes.  _But if it comes to that, then I'll just have to live with it._

 

 

**…**

 

In Arithmancy, the number 3 was known as the canine’s number.

Three heads to the dog, for it to become a Cerberus. Three tails to the kitsune, for it to be able to take on human form. Three worlds to the coyote, for its spirit to become a trickster god. Three forms to the jackal, jackal and man-jackal and man. Three nights to the Grim, buried bones seeping into new grave soil and a graveyard guardian born anew. Three moons to the wolf, for the moon is full three nights per lunar cycle and a wolf rises from man for each.

Three nights of full moon.

Not one.

_Three_.

“FUCK!”

Dietrich visibly jolted, along with Nate, though they were silent otherwise. Lu slammed his chin against the desk his elbow’d been leaning on, sleeping in his hand, while Harper yelped and dropped his wand, which started spitting out spiraling sparks. Only Jay seemed undisturbed, nearly leaning against me as he looked over my book. I winced when they all turned their eyes to me.

“Sorry.” I whispered in the abandoned classroom.

“I think I give up on your filthy language,” Dietrich sighed, shaking his head.

“The world has given up on yours, Dietrich, so that is only fitting,” Nate commented.

“I did not ask you.”

“Why the hostilities, Dietrich? We’re friends!”

“I do not recall ever calling you as such.”

“That’s right, Nate! Dietrich has never liked you and probably will never!” Harper piped up.

Nate blinked lazily, smiling slowly. “Harper, has anyone ever told you that you’re quite rude?”

“We do all the time,” Lu answered, “It goes, ‘Shut up, Harper.’”

“Ah. Well, then. Shut up, Harper.”

“Question!”

Dietrich looked done with all of this. “Answer,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Harper grinned and started speaking, but my attention was taken away by Jay tugging on my robe sleeve. The boys started their usual antics, squabbling at each other, but Jay broke into a shy, tiny smile.

“Braid my hair, Lyssie?” he asked, voice soft, eyes knowing.

There are little things that calm me down from the stress, from my more-frequent-than-not moods that leave me snappish and tense and overthinking. Little things that my boys have obviously picked up on.

Harper likes to hold my hand, just like Luna. He chatters and his happy tone soothes whatever irritation I’m feeling because you just can’t be angry with Harper, not for long and not when he’s trying so hard to keep you calm. Lu likes bringing me things — buttered toast is his go-to — or encouraging me to take a walk alone, center myself in the quiet. He’s odd, because he can usually tell which one I need more, being crowded or being isolated. Nate tends to use distraction, pissing off one of the others and starting huge arguments and smirking wider when I start laughing at their idiotic antics. Dietrich sits by me and talks me through it if he can, or simply offers quiet and peaceful company when I refuse to speak.

Jay, though?

Jay drags me away from the others and has me braid his hair. It’s familiar, to me, because even if the shade isn’t the same, Jay’s hair is reddish enough that I’m reminded of Ginny and when she used to beg me to do her hair. We talk about the books we’ve read or the dueling practice yesterday or whatever interests we have in common in quiet tones as my hands work through rosewood locks and my stressed mind calms by repetitive, familiar actions and a gentle voice.

The abandoned classroom was our place of choice these days, since everyone was panicking about finals and more interested in their mentor/mentee pairs than us _potesta_ leaders. It used to be much messier, since we didn’t _have_ the common room as a base when Malfoy was still dicking around, but had since our rise to power become a bit less crowded. I watched, unsurprised, as the boys’ arguments somehow turned into an agreement to start magical practice — Patronus practice, of course — and they pushed all the desks to one side of the room, clearing the floor for practice.

I watched them set up mindlessly, absently working on touching up my Occlumency. It was best that I managed it a bit at a time, with how tattered they were from me always letting Sirius come and go as he pleased, along with badly/hastily-learned Legilimency. It was soothing, seeing my boys all try their hands at Patronuses, generating a feeling of peace and contentedness in the room with all of their attempts.

Nate was sitting on a desk lazily, Harper and Lu and Dietrich standing with their sleeves rolled up and ties loosened, gritting their teeth in frustration. Compared to the fingertip wisps they got when we first started casting, they were doing really well, honestly. Lu managed to throw around fist-sized globs of light on a good day. Nate was having the most trouble but saying the least about it. Dietrich was near to Harper’s level of competence — wobbly shield — and Harper was already trying to coax his into an animal, which wasn’t going too well.

“Harper! You cannot skip steps! Your shield must be second nature before the Patronus recognizes your magic and incorporates more of your core into the spell!” Dietrich snapped when yet another one of Harper’s blobby white shields failed to take any form whatsoever — shield or animal both — and poofed away.

Harper’s concentrated expression slipped of his face easily as he grinned. “I’m wondering how much I have to overload the magic until it explodes!”

“Oi! We said you weren’t allowed to make exploding Patronuses! We took the book away from you and everything!” Lu protested, happy to forget his own failure of a Patronus and yell at someone. As always.

“Correction. We simply took the book away, we never bound Harper to a promise of no exploding Patronuses,” pointed out Nate, also happy to distract from his shaky attempt at the spell to irritate someone.

“Nathaniel, I swear to _Merlin_ -”

“GET YOUR PATRONUS OUT OF MY FACE HARPER!” 

“Now, now. Don’t be a sore loser, Lulu-” 

“WHAT DID YOU CALL ME?” 

“He called you Lulu, Lulu!” 

“Shut up, Harper!”

I snorted. I don’t know how, but Nate was somehow manipulating them into being as rowdy as possible. Because if Jay noticed that I was jittery and stressed, Nate did too, and here was his own awkward way of trying to make me feel better. Which wouldn't work, not that he knew, because what was stressing me out  _this time_ was out of his or their or even  _my_ hands.

Three nights of full moon. Three nights of Lupin transforming into a werewolf. Three chances when the prophecy could come true.

God _dammit._

There had been… a plan. Sort of a plan. Like… I wasn’t going to take being bitten by Lupin and becoming a werewolf, lying down. As if I would take Fate lying down _now_ , after a lifetime of struggling against it. I even had a book, checked out from the library on Snape’s smirking recommendation, _Defenses and Tactics Against the Beast._ My plan had been to basically… push back Fate’s price. If Lupin didn’t bite me, Fate would just try again later, and I might be able to pay that off, avoid the bite entirely.

But the intricacies of manipulating events and people for _one night_ was difficult enough — people were just too dynamic, too unpredictable — but three? No. My plans would fall through, no matter what I tried; the prophecy, the changed one, said ‘The full moon, the wolf’s moon’ which gave Fate a lot of time to work with. Nothing I did would change anything else; like I’d told Sirius, I was locked into this path. There was no going back, no taking back, and it seemed no way around, either.

Goddamn number 3.

Here was another little kick in the ass from this universe, I suppose. One might assume a werewolf turned only _once_ a month, yes? If one had been a Muggle in their past life. And little old me never listened to Dad’s and the twins’ teasing horror stories because I had other things to do, other things to study and prepare for. Because, you know, _why_ would I expect a werewolf to turn three times a month? Even studying astronomy, I didn’t make the connection, because it was so _hardwired into my brain_ that it was _once_ a month that I just… Ugh. But then again, in the HP books/movies, maybe werewolves totally turned three times a month and I was just an idiot that made assumptions? I couldn’t remember anymore-

And I was rambling to myself. Again.

…

_I have to tell Sirius,_ I thought, jaw clenching, _I have to tell him everything I know about it. We have to be ready for the mess of events surrounding Pettigrew’s capture. What if I’m bitten before the ritual?_

A human, when bitten by a werewolf initially, had a 30-70 chance of transforming that night. Not many did, but sometimes you had _two_ werewolves running about after biting. And Sirius and Snape would have a hell of a time protecting four Gryffindors — including a sneaky little rat-bastard — from two werewolves. Assuming events were going to follow canon loosely.

Oh god, we had to do the ritual first thing. Pettigrew’s memories _had_ to be warded.

“Lys… Are you alright?”

I snapped out of my thoughts and realized I hadn’t been brushing Jay’s hair for the past minute or so; my fingers were just tangled in his half-undone braid uselessly.

“Sorry! Thoughts got away from me and all that,” I said.

“…Your hands are shaking, Lys.”

“Maybe my magic is exhausted. Patronus casting is hard work, you know,” I deflected.

Jay just hummed in response.

I ran my fingers through his hair. Ginny would kill to have Jay’s hair, she’d told me many a time. When we were in earshot of Jay, he’d get all blushy and everything. I think Ginny liked Jay best of my friends just because of that.

His voice was close to a whisper when he spoke again. “I know something’s happening, Lyssie. I have trouble sleeping sometimes, and I’ve seen you slip out. I wouldn’t have said anything if Nate hadn’t spoken to me. He… doesn’t want to talk to you about it.” Jay turned his head a little, just enough so I could see the end of his small smile. “I don’t think he’d like it much if I say, but he’s still nervous about being first circle, Lyssie. He knows what he’s done to us before, and now that he also knows us better, he understands how it affected us, too.”

Ah, good. This was just about the sneaking out at night. Or, at least, I’d be able to make this about the sneaking out.

I glanced at Nate. He was polishing his glasses, perched on a desk near Harper, who was horsing around with Lu.

“He’s like you and Dietrich,” I said quietly, “So hesitant to… I didn’t… I didn’t know that he still had doubts about being one of me and mine, though. Should- er- Should I talk to him?”

Jay shook his head, small movements that made sure I didn’t pull on his hair. “No. In time… I think Nate will be alright in time. My point was… is… Nate doesn’t want to ask you about what you’re hiding. He doesn’t want to pry. And- And neither do I, but… But I wanted to offer you the chance to talk about it?”

I worked out some tangles, thinking slowly. 

“You… You said, once, that family matters were private.”

Jay turned again, more fully, leaving me with a profile view, his raised brows obvious. “You’re still having family issues? And… And this is what causes you to sneak out every night?” he asked skeptically.

I sighed. “It’s not whatever you’re thinking. In fact, you wouldn’t be able to guess what ridiculousness I’m in this time even if you tried. But it’s… I don’t want to involve you. Any of you. It’s barely any of my business, really, and I just… I don’t want you all dragged into my problems.”

Jay blinked slowly at me. “Are you going to be in danger?”

_Is this the Chamber incident all over again?_ is what Dietrich would ask. I could imagine him, eyes hard, back straight, wand in his hand, a demand to come with me on his tongue; a demand to help, to _really help_.

_Dietrich sprawled across the black stone, ash hair nearly white against the dark of the Chamber, eyes closed, face too peaceful — blood splattering, a high-pitched screaming, and then shifting bones and muscles as the moon rose. Fingers tore into dirt desperately — “But you... you, Lys, needed an incentive. You are a Slytherin, after all.” — took him because of her, because he wanted her, her fault her fault her fault — “My friend,” said the boy with crinkled grey eyes, a rare smile on his face, that trustful gaze._

_Stop._

I froze for a second. Then I shook my head. “Not to the extend of legendary magical creatures.”

He looked at me, eyes roaming across my face, studying. “You’re sure… You’re sure it’s family business? You’re sure we can’t help?”

All I did was smile shakily. “I’ve been preparing for a way to finish this piece of business up for a while. If it… If it helps, I’m not alone. And it’s not because I don’t trust you all, that I asked someone else to help, but because… well, they’re involved, and… I just- I- None of you should have to clean up messes left in _my_ family’s wake. It’s not fair.”

“…I suppose you’re right.”

“I can handle it.If I couldn’t handle it, I’d ask for help, but as it is… It’s okay. I don’t want you all to be distracted or hurt or anything else because of something I can… not _easily,_ but _can_ take care of on my own. I promise.”

_I can’t worry all of you. And I can’t bring any of you into this. I can’t think about your actions, can’t bring more players into the game that’s already so, so unstable. And if any of you got between me and a werewolf…_

He seemed reluctant, but he dipped his head shallowly. “The fact that you’re protecting us like that… It means whatever business you have is dangerous.”

I began to braid his hair properly, this time. “I won’t lie and say it isn’t. But I’ve done what I can to avoid the worst.”

_Liar,_ a voice laughed in my head, _Ridiculous, ridiculous liar._

_I don’t care,_ I thought fiercely, telling that voice to go ahead and fuck off.

“…Just- Just… please, Lyssie,” Jay said, distracting me from my mental bullshit, “…Just come back. You can come back with a concussion again if you need to, just come back. You adore keeping us safe, and you’ve really passed that to us. We also want to keep you safe. You just… make it much harder on us.”

“Which is why I’m very glad that it’s you and Nate who know, and not the others. Those three aren’t nearly as considerate to me.”

“To your obsession with protecting everyone else?” Jay asked wryly.

I snorted. “Sure.” I combed through his hair, tightening a bit of the braid. “Let me be selfish, okay? When you’re all taller and stronger than me, I won’t be able to stop you boys from muscling in on my problems, so for now, I’m going to do what I can to let you all relax.”

“That implies your problems will continue until we’re all grown.”

(Smart boy, Jay. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t know ‘continue’ should’ve been replaced by ‘multiply and intensify exponentially’.)

I laughed, finishing off the braid simply. My hands weren’t shaking anymore, thankfully. “The way I’ve been going? Jay, I’d hardly know what to do with myself if there weren’t any problems.”

He joined my chuckles with his own. “I think you’re right.”

I felt better, watching my boys fool around and Jay smile, his braid finished in my hands. Yes, I had to tell Sirius. Keeping secrets from me and mine  _sucked_ , and I had to shove down guilt every time they looked at me in concern, asked me to sleep more, looked relieved when I took naps in the day and piled work onto them instead. I knew for a fact that Ron and Percy were nearly up the wall with concern, held back only by their more sensible friends (*cough cough Hermione cough*) and the demon twins. I had to at least trust Sirius with this. He'd know how to proceed, how to go from here…

He'd know how to make it so I could come back with, rather than a concussion, a werewolf bite. But at least I'd come back at all.

 

**…**

 

Of course, Sirius did deserve to be a little panicked beforehand. I just… sort of hoped that he would've reacted more like I had, with a burning desire to avoid it, and once that was proven impossible, with a grim, horrified sort of determination to meet it as well as possible.

(But could you blame him, the ex-Azkaban convict with a guilt complex spanning my new lifespan?)

The color that Tilly (unknowingly) and I (knowingly and with much panic) had finally gotten into Sirius’ face, along with some _actual fat and muscle_ , had drained in an instant. I was uncomfortably reminded of the first time I saw Sirius, skeletal and hunched, sunken eyes, filthy robes and stringy hair, raving mad — a step away from foaming at the mouth in anger, really, with unfocused, cloudy eyes. I didn’t enjoy that picture of Sirius Black, if only because I very much enjoyed the slow-to-come grins and gentle ribbing and comfortable mind that he’d become.

“No. No no… Moony’s going to…” he gasped, “No, no, no, no, not him- No- Moony doesn’t want to- No! He never wanted to bite anyone, Lys! He never wanted to- I know, I know, I’m sorry, Moony, I know you don’t- I didn’t mean to put him in danger, I just wanted to scare- Snivellous deserves it-”

Shit fuck. I lost him.

I leaned forward as I started to get chocolate out of my pocket, and put a hand on Sirius’ shoulder, very gently and carefully. “Hey, Sirius, it’s okay…”

His eyes were wide and unseeing, expressions flitting across his face as quick as his memories. He was swaying where he sat, rigid and shaking, turning and looking at people and things that I couldn’t see.

“Lyssie! He doesn’t want to bite anyone, he doesn’t, I know he doesn’t, it’s his… worst… fear… Oh Merlin, no, no, no, no, not here again- Moony, I didn’t do it, I didn’t- James, Lily, I didn’t mean to do it! Don’t make me go, don’t make me go, I don’t want to go back to Azkaban, Moony… It’s my fault… I’m sorry… Lys… Uncle Sevens… Reggie hates me and so do you, I know it, I know it, I-”

My chest felt like something had crushed it, the childlike fear in Sirius' eyes. I hadn't seen that for… for a while, now. He'd been getting better… Goddammit. Why couldn't I have broken the new more carefully? Idiot. I had to grip his wrist, keep at least _one_ of his hands from clawing at his face. “Sirius! Breathe, Sirius, breathe! Breathe, and then eat this, Sirius. It’s me, Lys-” I flinched when he turned wide eyes on me, unseeing and not remembering. But I was a big girl and I wasn't going to bloody cry at this stark reminder that my friend was far from being healed from those dementor fuckheads. I swallowed, and started,“Septimus told you to find me and we’ve been thick as thieves all these months, haven’t we? Eat the chocolate Sirius.”

“NO! You can’t, you can’t- Lys, Moony doesn’t want to be a sire, he can’t bite you! I won't let him! Lys, you'd hate it, you- You always say it's okay, but I know it isn't, Moony, the least I can do is- the least I can-” He snarled, and I winced, retreating a half an inch backwards, but he didn't seem aggressive to anyone but himself. “I keep doing this to my friends, why do I keep doing this  _to my friends?_ Lyssie, he- you-”

A mix of memory influx and time placement confusion and this moment; I felt like he was regressing as we spoke, and painstakingly Occluded myself into as much calm as I could muster, putting everything but my friend's wellbeing away for now. “I know, Sirius, I know… Come here, now, here you go.”

He was shaking, but I managed to shove some chocolate into his mouth. As usual, he didn’t seem to register it at all for a moment, but he stopped raving. My grip on his shoulder went from barely-touching to something I was sure bordered on painful; I didn’t like it, but it was the last thing I had to anchor him to reality outside of a Legilimencic link. When it was this bad, when it was 100% a fear-driven bout of memory surges, then sometimes I had to do this.

Because that’s what dementors did to you. They made you _need_ suffering.

I watched him breath for a while, his heaving hyperventilating steadying into normal, slightly shallow breaths. The room grew silent once again, just wind blowing at creaky wood and shingles, Sirius trying to grip onto reality once again, and foil being peeled from chocolate by my fingers. It must've been at least half an hour before he took a deep breath and sighed it out, turning grey eyes on me; I tried not to let it bother me that he always, always looked ashamed after an episode. If he knew I was bothered by his being bothered, it'd just exacerbate the issue, so I ignored his shaking hands and fear-tinged eyes and smiled.

“Hey. You back yet, doggie?” My voice didn't give away my concern overly-much, which was good.

Sirius cleared his throat. “Ah… yes, I… I told you not to call me that, you brat.”

“I’ll stop calling you that when it stops applying.” I replied lightly.

He outwardly relaxed at my casual tone; if it made him feel better that I didn't baby him too much, that was probably good, right? A sense of pride or something. At least for now, since this was a callback to the fact that Sirius wasn't completely better yet and we'd really have to rethink some issues once this Pettigrew mess was cleared up. 

“Animaguses don’t just stop being Animaguses, you know.” Sirius said matter-of-factly. Then he frowned.“Well. Unless crazy shit happens.”

“Language, bratling pup of an Heir.”

I nearly jumped at the reminder that the Bloody Baron was still there. He was…  _kind_ enough to pretend nothing was wrong with Sirius' episodes. Or maybe he just didn't care enough. One never knew with the Baron; the ghost just wanted to be entertained properly, to watch my struggle with Fate.

Sirius knew this, and accordingly didn't like the Baron. “You know I slip up when I’ve just had a bloody attack, you undead prat-”

“Merlin, now I _know_ you’re back.” I muttered, shaking my head. 

Sirius smirked, about to reply, mouth open-

Then his face paled again, eyes widening, and I was worried we'd have another episode on our hands, riding on the back of the other one. He surged forward, grabbing my shoulders roughly with his large hands, looking panicked. "Lys. Is what you said- You- You're going to be- WHAT DO YOU MEAN, MOONY'S GOING TO BITE YOU?” He roared in my face, starting to shake my shoulders like I was a kid in need of discipline.

“DON’T SHAKE ME AROUND, SIRIUS, I’M FRAGILE!” Goddammit, I'd been  _worried_ about this prat and he was about to rip my head off!

“Mortals,” I thought I heard the Bloody Baron scoff.

Sirius let go just as I thought the ringing of my goddamn brain being rattled in my skull would never end. He stood up, pacing around with more energy than I thought he even possessed at this point, grumbling and growling to himself. He whirled around at me suddenly, looking hysterical. I winced at his expression, because it was completely sane and free of memory surges — this hysterical panic was  _all_ Sirius.

“You just told me that my best friend — the only one left, in fact — whose greatest fear is to become someone’s wolf sire, is _going to bite you and_ ** _become your wolf sire._** And this is because you- you- Because _we_ messed with Destiny, I’m dooming _both_ my fucking _only_ friends!”

I struggled for something to say that would calm Sirius down. Struggled… and failed. “I thought you didn’t have anything against werewolves!?” I asked, scandalized at the idea that he did.

“What, why would I- No- That’s not the point!” Sirius hissed, pointing at me accusingly. “You’re a bloody child! Being a werewolf _hurts_ , Lyssie, in every conceivable way — you think your bones and muscles shifting from human to wolf is _painless?_ It’s not a bleeding Animagus transformation- and for a child, who’s stillgrowing- For Merlin’s sake-”

“You think I don’t understand that!? You think I haven’t spent the last _four days_ reading everything about werewolves?” I snarled, my usual long-fuse temper being set off at the thought that Sirius thought I was some ignorant _child,_ had shaken me like I was a _toddler_ to be scolded. “This is the price I pay! This is the price and bloody _hell_ , Sirius, I didn’t tell you to- to bloody argue, I told you because I need help, dammit!”

My voice had hitched up at the end there and I lost my hold on my Occlumency out of my sudden jump from concern to fear to irritation to whatever the hell this was, born of the fact that Sirius _wasn't helping._ I'd be on my  _bloody own_ for this one, with him pacing around like the madman everyone thought he was. The madman he half  _was,_ actually. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck, I was going to be a werewolf, wasn’t I? FUck. I needed to perform a highly magically intense Legilimency ritual in order to wipe some fuckface’s memories of my abilities, before which and during which I could not be bitten, and thus I needed to stay unbitten while fending off Snape and the Golden Trio… Oh my fucking god, Ron was going to be there while I was bitten, wasn’t he? And my Head of House, shit fuck, what if I couldn’t do the ritual? It was too complicated, everything was coming together too soon-

“Lys.”

I jerked, startled from my downwardly spiraling thoughts. Sirius was staring at me intently, looking calmer, looking… apologetic?

“Lys. Lys- Just- I’m sorry. Alright, I… I lost it, I shouldn’t have- I- I’m the adult here, no matter what. I’m helping you. I’ll help you. You helped me, so I’ll do the same- Partners, right? You and me.”

I took a breath, noted my shit Occlumency and mourned my old barriers, and did my best to settle. Breathed. Calmed myself down, kept the hysteria and panic away best I could. The roles were reversed now, Sirius watching over  _my_ breathing, making sure  _I_ was alright. It was… Nice. It was nice not to worry on my own, which was exactly why I'd come clean to Sirius in the first place. Right.

“Right. Partners, you and me.” I murmured, “I have to tell you what I Saw. I have to… You have to know the prophecy, you have to know what it means.”

“Alright,” Sirius said, nodding.

“It still happens, all that I said already — Ron and Harry and Hermione are going to be there, and if Lupin’s showing up to bite me then I’m pretty sure Snape is gonna be there, too. All that happens, only we have to somehow- we- we gotta do the ritual before I’m bitten but after we calm everyone down.”

“Me, Snivellous, Remus, my godson, your brother, and their friend… sounds like a crazy mess. Add you to that… Yeah, I see why we’re going to need a lot of planning and plans. Backup plans and all that, too.”

Crazy mess… Yes, that’s what Sirius _would_ call canon events.

“Yeah. We’re gonna need to have the ritual prepared at a moment’s notice.”

“This room, then. Easier on our minds if it’s a familiar place, right? We’ll have to take the Trio somewhere else to convince them. Upstairs, maybe. So… Y’know, so Harry doesn’t knock Snape into anything important, bless my godson’s bloody soul.”

I snorted. “With everything changed, that might not happen this time around.”

“Dammit. James’ son decking Snivellous is something I need to see…”

“Later,” I dismissed, rolling my eyes. “First, we plan. Three days to prepare for, Sirius.”

“Right.” He paused. “Lys… I’m sorry this is the price you had to pay. I’m sorry, and… thank you. _Thank you._ ”

The sincerity in his voice calmed me down faster than my shit-Occlumency did, that was for sure. “So you won’t think any less of me…?”

“I’ll set up a wolf chamber in my own bloody basement for you if I need to, Lys. Once I’m free, I’ll have access to the Black Family fortune, so I’ll be able to do that. And bribe whoever I need to, to make sure you’ll be okay. Werewolves aren't treated very… well. But… Everyone speaks Galleons, and I'll have a hell of a lot of those, so that's no big deal.”

There was a familiar burn of a blush on my face. Sirius would have to support me because my family wasn’t comfortable enough, money-wise, to do so. Mum and Dad would cry when it happened, oh god. “You don’t have to-”

“I do have to.” Sirius interrupted firmly.

“My family doesn’t like charity-”

(We were Weasleys, dammit. We had been a noble house once, and we still remembered that, in little ways. I was a _Slytherin_ , for god's sake.)

“This isn’t charity. This is a partner taking care of his littler partner. Also, I’m probably going to adopt you as my goddaughter for all you’ve done for me anyways, so it’s not an imposition or whatever. You’re practically family.”

Family. Me and mine.

(Those very words soothed me immediately.)

I smiled. “Yes, alright. I suppose you’re my favorite, insane uncle or something. We’d better get to planning so you _can_ get your fortune and make good on your-” I blinked, remembering suddenly, and then turned around. “Baron! You don’t have to stay for this part — in fact, you didn’t have to walk me here at all. We’ve got to take care of logistics. You can stay or you can go, whatever you’d like.”

The Bloody Baron tilted his head to one side. “Hm. I think I’ll stay, if only to observe. Worry not, I won’t interfere. Remember, young snake? Entertainment of the century.”

We held gazes, my blue — it was still odd, that after all these years, it still delighted me that my eyes were blue this time around? — and the Baron’s milky silver. He didn’t smile, didn’t even raise his brow a tic, but I understood. I tilted my chin, and he blinked.

“Right.” I turned back to Sirius. “Let’s get ready for this clusterfuck.”

“You have your exam schedule already, Lys? We’ll have to plan around those.”

I took on a vaguely disgusted face. “I’m almost certain that I’ll still pass my classes even if I skip…” Dietrich and Jay would kill me, and Harper and Lu would complain that _they_ should’ve been allowed to skip, too, and Nate would just be annoying and curious about it, but sacrifices must be made…

“No, no, no! Uncle Sirius won’t allow that-” Sirius shook his head.

“Ergh. I hope you don’t want me to call you that…”

“You said I was an uncle to you!”

“Well you probably are, somehow. Purebloods are all mixed up, it’s ridiculous. I’m probably related to most everyone in the school. Including Malfoy, ew.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “You think you have it bad? His mother’s my cousin. Narcissa Malfoy.”

“Muriel Prewett. The witch who totally and secretly revenge-killed all of the Death Eaters who had a hand in my Uncle Fabian and Gideon’s deaths.”

“Bellatrix Lestrange. Was in the cell next to me at Azkaban.”

“Helvynya Prevett. Also known as the Mind Eater, my ancestor.”

“I have so many Dark Lords and such in my ancestry that I think I beat you out. It’s called the Black Family Madness for a reason, Lyssie.”

“Well, I can’t really argue against that, now, can I?”

We grinned at each other, and I was glad we’d gotten past the entire werewolf thing. Accepted that it was going to happen, worked on more… changable things. Sirius would have my back on it, and I’d have his on Pettigrew. We just had to figure out how to do this with as little fuss possible, as little blood shed, as many good outcomes. I was certain that a lot of people would be pissed at me for going this far with my Clairvoyance, touching at Destiny itself… but it was easier to think about, knowing I’d be protecting mine through this choice, and Sirius would be behind me every step of the way.

 

**…**

 

Things to keep in mind:

Sirius’ improved mental and physical state. A huge amount of dementor presence right outside of the Hogwarts wards. Three full moon nights. Different mythologies in regards to werewolves. Ron and Harry were both a little Darker than they would’ve been, due to my influence. Snape would be more violent or more careful (unknown which) due to the presence of one of his more favored snakes during the confrontation. Pettigrew’s mind needed to be wiped before it was high moon. Pettigrew’s mind couldn’t be wiped until Sirius and I were no longer threatened. 

These were the changes that I’d noted. More proof that this universe was a far cry from the one I remembered. If it wasn’t evident by the look of the characters — not movie-replicas, not book-perfect, but a mix between them, along with their own flair — or by the utter depth of magic, or by the people I’d met with no mention in the canon I knew… Well, I really had to hammer this into my head soon. Depending on false information was habitual and dangerous, I found.

“Weasley?”

I looked up from my werewolf book. “Yes, Lynwood?”

My boys were quiet as the pale-haired, dark-eyed firstie stepped forward. She had a solemn, aristocratic face, tall for her age. One of Mercer’s rivals for my position, though I kept an eye on them to make sure their rivalry didn’t get too vicious; political opponents sometimes became very good allies, as Nate taught us all. Even so, it was rarer that Ariadne Lynwood brought something up to me during my sparse periods of holding court, these days.

“Our House ghost asked me to come fetch you. He’s waiting outside the mirror.” Lynwood said primly, straightening and standing taller as my eyes narrowed.

I looked to Dietrich, half-sitting on the arm-rest I was nearest to, grabbed at his wrist to look at his watch (he rolled his eyes at me). My jaw clenched at the time: seven o’clock, or just about. Early evening, the moon wasn’t even close to being up this cycle, but it would be full for the first time this month.

“Thank you, Lynwood,” I said quickly, dismissing her and flicking my eyes to Nate. “Oi. Forget something?”

Nate frowned. I had asked him to keep an eye on my brother and Harry and Hermione, for reasons I wouldn't say and he'd never asked about. (Worrying, that Nate was, under all his sass and pomp, still nervous about all of us. Understandable, since Dietrich — my right hand, my _Second_ — didn't make secret of his persisting distaste for Nate.) “Their Divination exam is tomorrow,” said Nate, narrowing his eyes and looking annoyed.

“But your brother got in an argument with Granger about it and it ended up with his textbook being chucked into the lake.”

I stiffened, turned to Harper, who looked confused but was still smiling.

“Olivia Lloyd and that friend of your sister’s, Bennett, were talking about it,” Harper clarified, acquiescing to my silent order to continue, “Your brother’s book was destroyed, and I think I heard something about him and Potter going to go see if bat-shit Trelawney had any more?”

“Language!” hissed Jay.

Ignoring them, I stood and started to rush to my bag, thrown on one of our couches, next to Lu. Passing Dietrich, I touched his shoulder. “You’re up, Second,” I muttered, throwing my bag strap on my shoulder and Summoning my wand into my hand from where it rested on a side table.

Ron and Harry had to go see Trelawny today. Tonight was the first full moon. There was a prophecy supposed to be heard, supposed to warn them.  If this dread building in my gut was to be believed, then…

“Lys?” Lu questioned, looking as puzzled as the rest of them.

“Bloody Baron’s waiting for me, Lu.” I sighed, feeling a little guilty to be leaving my boys like this, clueless and probably worried, if the looks on their faces were anything to go by. When I snuck off in the night, I wasn’t really leaving them, since it was my own time, and napping with them nearby to make up for lost sleep still meant I was nearby.

“…You going to be alright?” he asked quietly, eyes trained on my bag.

I glanced back at Jay, who nodded once, just a jerk of his chin, mouth creased into an apologetic frown. So he’d accidentally let something slip to Lu, though probably not everything, if Lu wasn’t ready and rearing to bother me about it and fix whatever was wrong. Small mercies, at least. Lu did look very concerned at me, though, making me have to Occlude that terrible guilty feeling away. I'd neglected so many things in pursuit of this outcome, in pursuit of Destiny, and I hated that my boys' peace of mind was part of that. Lu was the type, too, to get snarly and loud when it was something he was confident he could fix or get someone else to fix, but quieter when it came to being unsure. A quiet Lu was different from a concentrated Lu, and a quiet Lu was bad.

“Sorry,” is all I said, quietly, walking quickly to the Slytherin exit doorway. Then louder, “Dietrich’s in charge, stay inside the castle.” I met Lynwood and Mercer’s eyes, sitting in their own places but paying close attention to me. “All of you. Keep Slytherin inside, let Josie know, too.”

Mercer immediately stood and went to the girl’s dormitories, passing me, nodding as she did. I exited the portal, knowing the Slytherins were all in a flurry at my abrupt and strange departure. I probably could’ve played that better, been much less suspicious, but my heart was thudding against my chest almost painfully, teeth grinding in my skull. I knew it was coming, but-

Hah. I was usually so cool in the face of danger. Well… not really. I was cool in the face of dangers I was prepared for, in the face of Slytherins dueling and children's games. When it came to real things, things I couldn't plan for, I became an emotional mess. Case in point, Tom bloody Riddle. I just hoped that this time, with my partner in crime being prepared for bloodshed and injury and illegal, Dark rituals… this time, I wouldn't fall apart like an idiot. This time I was tougher, I was better.

(I was scared. But if I didn't go now, what was the point of everything I'd done already?)

“Young snake,” greeted the Bloody Baron, floating like a misty beacon in the dark of the dungeons.

I nodded, striding past him and heading to the Hogwarts entrance. The Baron floated in step with me. “It’s time, isn’t it?”

“Your kin, the Mudblood, and the Boy-Who-Lived had the rat in their hands when the Myrtle girl came upon them. She came to me, just as I came to you.”

Hearing that, I sped up my pace, enough that my extremely un-athletic legs were burning. “Then I’m late. Thank you for letting me know,” I grit out, worried about Sirius, who was probably facing off against too many people he wasn’t willing to hurt but who were perfectly willing to hurt him.

_No. I want to tell you, I need to… I just… I hate him, Lys, I hate him. He killed my parents. It’s his f-fault and I-I… I want him dead._

Harry would especially want him dead. The Harry I knew, who listened with wide and excited eyes as I detailed my duels, who nodded solemnly when I told him that Tom Riddle — _my friend_ — had to die… He wouldn’t hesitate. The Harry I knew was more vicious, more quick to act, more sure of himself, and whether it was my fault or just a reflection of his odd world’s, it was true and that meant less time for Sirius.

“Sirius is stronger than he was,” I whispered to myself, “It balances out.” I looked at the Baron, who seemed to be ignoring me but was likely listening intently. “Will you go or will you stay?” _You have no obligation to us, as we all know,_ was said silently.

The Baron’s lips twitched and pressed into a wretched sort of smile which looked more like a grimace. “Until the Hogwarts doors, young Seer,” he said, “I have had more than enough of watching blood spill down your face.”

I huffed. My legs were burning. How morbid. But true. In many senses, the first of which being the bleeding headaches from my crap Occlumency and shaky Legilimency. Sirius and I hadn’t done a mind link in a while, focused on preparing for right now. And we’d never practiced on a living person. And I’d just taken a few exams; my magic wasn’t low by any means, but Legilimencic rituals and fighting off a werewolf…

I tried to steady my breathing, tearing through the castle, to the entrance.

“Good luck, Guinevere Weasley.”

I slammed into one of the main doors, palm flat against the wood and shoving the heavy wood open. Fresh, cool air blasted my face, the slight warmth of Hogwarts’ halls melting away; it was a cold day, even for Scotland Junes, and that was likely because of the dementors. The sky was pale blue and grey, cloudy and sun ready to set behind them. The moon rise was in about five hours, since it had been twirling around all day, and as the first full moon of the cycle, the werewolf could be held off — unintentionally or intentionally, I didn’t know — until Lupin met pure moonlight, then the transformation would kick in.

Time was of the essence, and Sirius and I had to make it up as we went on account of all the variables thrown in.

First, though, I had to get to the Shrieking Shack.

“ _Procidascondium Inuisibilita.”_ I murmured, tapping my wand to my head and shivering as the Disillusion Charm took place. Imperfect, but good enough that I could get to my friend without being stopped by Snape or Lupin or the Golden Trio. That was something we  _did_ plan, and it grounded me enough that I wouldn't be paralyzed out of fear. I had to get to Sirius' side and soothe tempers, help explain.

“Wait for me, Sirius.”

Then I started running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Some end notes that are completely optional to read!
> 
> Firstly, I GOT FAN ART AND I'M SO HELLA EXCITED!! Big thanks to Muyapa for [THIS BEAUTIFUL MASTERPIECE](https://muyapa.tumblr.com/post/174980458779/fanart-for-a-really-great-fanfiction-im-too-shy)!!!!
> 
> Secondly, update schedule: Someone asked if I update Saturdays now, and I told them no. I meant to update last week's Tuesday but didn't have the chapter done 'til very early today, so I went ahead and updated so y'all didn't have to wait for another couple days. :) It was my apology update, basically, since I kept saying that I'd go for a 2-week schedule and broke that promise. For now, updates will still be sporadic, but I'll do my best for Tuesday updates.
> 
> Thirdly, thanks to all once again! I've got over a thousand kudos and almost four hundred bookmarks and that's SO AWESOME! Your love and support really does help! :D


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ayyyy, this one's on time! Fair warning, I strip some text (dialogue) straight from the books, but I've been doing that, so it's nothing new. Still don't own HP... And tbh, I'm a little unsure about this chapter. It's not as action-y as it should be, but eh.
> 
> And, thank you all — as always — for the kudos/bookmarks/comments/love/support! :D It's very inspiring. Enjoy the chapter!

 

**…**

 

It was darker than I thought it was. Cloud cover always confused my sense of time, but the sun was truly sunk beneath the mountains now, no trace of sunset golds and reds at all. It drizzled earlier today so the grass is wet and I was uncoordinated enough that I was slipping as I stumble-ran, breathing deep enough that some part of my mind was a slight worried.

Only part of my mind, though. The rest was hell bent on getting to the Shrieking Shack, getting to Sirius, what I’d have to say to all of the parties present who _weren’t_ Sirius, and running through all the anti-werewolf defensive spells and tricks I’d hammered into my head with all the desperation of an ex-college student.

The willow was creaking as I clawed my way up to its place on the hill, roots coiling menacingly as it detected me despite the Disillusionment Charm; I flung my arm out, waving my wand and opening the pathway to the Shack, diving inside where it was cold and wet and I was surely streaked with dirt under the magic. By the time I made it to the actual Shack, though, I slowed to a quick trot, trying to keep my breathing down by tilting my head up, straightening my airway — no sense in wasting the magic on a Silencing Charm when I could just do this, right? — but still breathing rather hard; I was not made for running.

The Shack’s lower floors were mostly clean of dust because me and Sirius; we never used the stairs, so they were a mess of dirt and dark stains and trails through thick dust and grime that must’ve been new. There were muffled voices, too, rolling between quiet and just short of roaring, cadences I recognized well. A clumsy crawl up the stairs, and I could make out raised voices coming from the first bedroom on the right, where Sirius and I agreed to bring everyone for the confrontation part of our evening.

“-father, like son, Potter. I have just saved your neck… you should be thanking me on bended knee! You would have been well served if he’d killed you! You’d have died like your father, too arrogant to believe you might be mistaken in Black — already your mistakes have caused your little _friends_ injury, and yet you stand in defense of their attacker? Stupid boy- Get out of the way, or I will _make you_. GET OUT OF THE WAY, POTTER!”

Shit! This was somewhere around when Harry would attack Snape, wasn’t it? Good god, I’d missed a lot; Sirius had probably already tried to explain about Pettigrew, with Lupin backing him, but then Snape would’ve shown up… We needed Snape to give credence to our story later, he might’ve hated Sirius but he would give _me_ the benefit of the doubt, the man was bitter and enraged, not _stupid._ Sirius hated this plan, but I had to get in there-

“ _Finite Incantatem,”_ I cast quietly, stepping into the room and pushing the creaking door open.

“ _STUPEFY!”_

I slammed myself to the side, jarring my shoulder to avoid a jet of crimson spellfire, flying close enough to raise the hairs on my skin, heart thundering with surprise as Snape sneered at me, having spun around so quickly that I had only dodged because I was already keyed up and panicky. Harry was standing near the door but had been shoved aside, back to the bed where I saw my brother and Hermione sitting with wide eyes, scrambling up to drag him near them, protect him. Snape was in the center of the room, wand out, a step back from where he’d been before, his back slightly to Sirius, who was nearest to the grimy windows and rigid with tension.

“What the-”

“Blimey!”

“Ah, the _accomplice_. Another for Azkaban, then… _Spicuventius!”_ my Head of House snarled, flicking his wrist.

The air compressed into four, thin, cone-like projectiles, tiny whirlwinds that shot forward and left splintered holes in the wooden walls and floor right behind me, sending clouds of dirt and dust everywhere. I scrambled forward, giving a little shriek and coughing as I did, trying to avoid Snape’s nonlethal but still probably quite painful spells; my form was reflectively invisible, not quite perfect invisibility — he could see me in close quarters easily, like a odd, shining, mirror-like shape of a person in thin air, which was becoming more obvious with how I’d just canceled my spell and it was fading as we dueled.

(Not really. Dueled, that is. If I was actually _dueling_ _Severus Snape,_ I’d probably be dead by now.)

“ _Diffindo!”_

_“Protego!”_ I screamed, trying to get away from Snape and deflecting a no-doubt overpowered Cutting Curse away, the translucent-blue light slashing into the ceiling instead.

“STOP! SNAPE STOP!”

I suddenly found myself yanked forward, pressed away with Sirius in between me and Snape, who was between Sirius and the Golden Trio. I almost tripped over something on the ground, which turned out to be a tied-up Professor Lupin, looking confused and alarmed at what was going on, struggling on the ground as he was. I clutched at Sirius’ back, dazed at the fact that Snape had been throwing spells around like candy at me, trying to catch my breath but not seeming to be able to; there had been dust everywhere, exploding wood, and I’d been running…

My breath came in short and quick and I dug my fingers into Sirius’ back and arm to warn him, chest heaving and lungs desperate for breath. Fuck- I was having a goddamn asthma attack right now, wasn’t I? _Thank you, Fate, this is exactly what I needed right now._ Sirius winced at the feeling of my nails biting into his skin and paused from his snarling at Snape (who was demanding to know who Sirius had tricked into helping him) looking back and down at my slowly-revealing face, probably pale with need for oxygen.

“Lys?” he asked, panicked.

He met my eyes, so I think that part of my body was showing up. I nodded frantically.

“WEASLEY!”

“Lyssie?”

“LYS?”

“OI! LET GO OF MY SISTER YOU BLOODY MURDERER!”

I could actually see my hands on Sirius’ sleeves, so I think the spell’s chameleon layers had peeled right off. Just as my lungs started to burn, lovely.

“Sirius- Sirius! Miss Weasley is- She’s having an asthma attack!” yelled Lupin from the floor, beginning to flounder against his binds even harder, looking concerned even as he was tied up. I was rather surprised he recognized the symptoms, since wizards generally were clueless about illnesses as fixable (if you had the money) as asthma.

Sirius’ eyes flashed with recognition and determination at those words, and he grabbed the wand I offered him — _my wand_ , I offered him _my wand_ like I always did, and it worked for him rather well, as if it knew that he was one of mine and was trying to help him as I did — which my brother screamed inarticulately at, Snape and Harry darting forward to stop him or wrench it out of his hands or  _something._

“ _Anapneo,”_ Sirius intoned, ignoring the stilling room, tapping his wand to my throat gently. He’d had to do this for me twice before, after some really badly-gone Memory Ward practices, before he’d gotten bored enough to clean the entire first floor of dust and allergens. “ _Strenudassecaelius. Uklidnisera_. _”_

I felt my throat open, air rushing into my lungs as I gasped for it, finally able to breath. The tears gathered at the corners of my eyes seemed to melt away and I rubbed at my face to get the red out, coughing at the influx of air after my body had denied it. Sirius was patting my back gently, checking me over, and it wasn’t until I looked up that I realized the entire room was staring at us in amazed shock/horror, my Head of House and Ron and Harry very nearly bristling as they were frozen in place.

Sirius and I glanced at each other ( _Merlin that was terrible timing, what do we do, now?_ was the look exchanged), and he casually flicked a little, “ _Aperioristos.”_ at Lupin to snap the bonds off of him before holding my wand back out; I made a show shaking my head and pushing my wand away, telling him to keep it for now, and we stood with me just slightly behind Sirius (shielded from Snape, who he glared at) and him slightly in-front but beside me.

It was Snape who broke the silence.

“I will tell you once, Black,” growled Snape, black eyes glittering and face pale. I was surprised when he jabbed a hand out and bodily pushed Harry — who’d been a minute away from tackling Sirius to the ground once he’d gotten my wand — back to the shredded bed with the other two. “You will step away from my student, you will tell me what enchantment you have Miss Weasley under that I may undo it, you and the _wolf_ will surrender yourselves to me, and you will quietly return to Azkaban. You will do all these things, Black, _or I will kill you where you stand.”_

His eyes kept darting to me and back to Sirius, which was how I knew that he was, under his Occlumency and sneering face, rather worried that I — Slytherin _second year_ and a mark of pride to my House — was behind a convict who he believed was the cause of the death of Lily Potter. …Which sounded much worse and much more understandable the more I thought about it.

I cleared my throat, drawing eyes to me. I was accustomed to attention, _parvus potesta_ reigning that I was, but this was different; made me want to hide behind Sirius and make him take care of everything, like a child. Bury my head in the sand like an ignorant sheep. But that wasn’t how partnerships worked, and Slytherin I might be, I hated to imagine that I was a coward who would do that to Sirius. My fear wasn’t going to control me, and I was already embarrassed under my tension that I’d just suffered a bloody asthma attack because I ran and choked on a bit of dust, dammit.

“Professor. Sirius would _never_ hurt me.” I said, slow for the sake of my still-gathering breath.

(He was already nearly overcome with shame and horror by the fact that his fortune would be derived from my suffering. I knew Sirius a little too well by now; he would die before purposefully and maliciously harming me.)

I punctuated the statement by bringing my hand to Sirius’ wrist, gripping at the pooling fabric of his robe sleeve there.A perfectly innocent, trusting gesture. Unfortunately, no one relaxed at the sight — everyone just stiffened, more suspicious, and Snape looked a second away from throwing a Killing Curse.

“Weasley, I suggest you _hold your tongue,”_ Snape said dismissively. “I doubt you know what you are saying.”

“Are you bloody kidding me, Snape? She’s not under an enchantment.” Sirius snapped.

“You’ll excuse me if I don’t believe that, Black, after I just witnessed one of my less idiotic Slytherin students give you permission to cast with her wand,” replied Snape icily, “and then proceed to refuse its return.”

With the fact that a criminal — a murderer, they thought — used and currently possessed my wand being spoken aloud, my brother snapped. “You SICK BASTARD! What have you done to my sister?” he roared.

“Ron, no-!”

“Get off me, Hermione, I’m gonna _kill him!_ He was bloody lying, can’t you see? That son of a bitch has _my sister_ , bollocks to Pettigrew being alive — he and the _werewolf_ were _obviously lying!”_ Ron snarled, staggering up on his feet and trying to get to me.

“Granger, Potter!” Snape barked, “Restrain Weasley!”

I felt my teeth grinding together as my heart rate calmed and my lungs figured out they were safe. (No doubt I'd have to get Madam Pomfrey to check on them later, because asthma attacks held back by spells were far more likely to continue on than if I'd had one of the dragon-lady's nifty potions on me...) There was a dull ache in my throat and chest, like an echo of just a few minutes prior, so I focused on something else. Ron and Hermione both looked dirty and injured, Ron’s jeans covered in dark stains that were probably blood. Harry had a cut on his temple that was trickling blood down the side of his face, glasses cracked but not managing to hide ferocious, green eyes darting between Sirius and me and Snape and Ron in quick succession. Ron was struggling to stand, pained face alight with a hint of panic, focused on me and arms trying to bat away Hermione’s trembling attempts to make him sit down. The Trio must’ve fought against Sirius harder…

“Ron, your leg is broken and bleeding heavily, I would advise you-”

“PISS OFF, LUPIN! You bloody _traitor!_ You probably got her when she was- when she was trying to learn how to cast the Patronus, and Harry was next, too, wasn’t he?”

“No, I-”

Determining that no spells would be flying in this delicate situation, I checked on my somewhat-uncle. Sirius was injured, too, though not as badly. There was a smear of blood on his chin and his lip was swollen and cut, and he looked decidedly more rumpled than he usually did when I dropped in, but he wasn’t swaying where he stood. He felt more solid than ever, actually, with his goal so close and someone to protect at his back and his best friend — his last one — next to him. Lupin looked confused but didn’t move from Sirius or question him; he was waiting to see what would happen before saying anything in a situation that was growing more tangled by the second, which was very... Lupin, I suppose. From what I'd gleaned from Patronus lessons and  remembered from Sirius.

Tensions in the room were boiling over to another bout of 'cast first, questions later'. Lupin would defend Sirius because of loyalty and whatever guilt he had, I suppose. Sirius would fight against Snape but falter if the Trio attacked, which Harry and Ron looked like they would. Those three looked on the verge of spellfire because of me but also were held back by the same thing, though Snape really looked pissed at Sirius. 'Pissed' was an understatement, of course. Hermione and I seemed to be the only ones cautious and unwilling to start brawling, which just goes to show that  _men were ridiculous._

We were off to a rather terrible start. As expected of Fate, really; she was probably laughing at me.

“Did you get him?” I asked lowly, directing my question to Sirius.

My eyes were trained on a furious Ron and a cautious Professor, distracted for a moment while Lupin began to implore the bleeding Ron and Hermione — and together with them, Harry — to calm down and stand down, which everyone sans Hermione seemed to take as a ‘or else Lys will be harmed’ and reacted explosively to such. They would be busy for a while, arguing amongst themselves; I’d take advantage and check in with my partner for now, then.

“In your brother’s hands,” said Sirius, just as quiet, “They fought hard before Remus came. The girl has a wicked left hook.”

If I weren't coiled so tight, I might've smiled. “Is it him?” I asked instead.

Sirius twitched at my implication. _Did we have the right rat?_ “I think so. Would you…?”

I smiled grimly. “I know the bastard’s colors, don’t worry.”

My core sent a pulse of magic to my eyes, threading through the paths of those Brightstalker-based rituals I had to renew every once in a while — I'd have to do that soon, actually — flicking my Mage Sight back on. The colors in the room were swirling, every one of them tense. Sirius’ blackened mauve, flecked with gold and crimson, was writhing and swirling around his form jerkily, its song a low, fluttery buzz; he was very excited, anxious. The colors would sometimes flicker mirror-like, indicating how unhealthy his head was, but it was better than before. Lupin’s colors tentatively prodded at Sirius’, maroon and violet and reddish-blues tinged with grey-blacks, slow and gentle but sharp, shimmering silver. Snape’s night sky was crazed, jolting around him, curling around him and the ones he stood before (grudgingly), sparking with what I assumed was anger.

I squinted past the larger cores of the adults, shoving my own down and telling it to behave, gazing at the Trio. Hermione’s were still those bright yellows and greens, but there were tinges of orange and teal shades blooming all along the edges, the mist curling defensively and intwined with other colors. Harry was like before, peacock colors that shone metallically, stiff in movement and strings winding around his friends, silvers and golds tentatively reaching for me but not quite making it. Ron’s explosion of dawn and dusk colors was the most active in the room, thrashing and roaring and struggling as he did; those were the colors I gazed at, looking for what they were accidentally hiding…

There. Mustard yellows mixing with poisonous greens, rotting beige and fleshy pinks oozing all over like sores. Blackened edges that dripped and bubbled, strings that were weak enough that I almost didn’t believe they were there, like a normal animal’s or a weak familiar’s. There was a rot in those colors, in that soul, and seeing those trembling clouds of discolored ink nestled in my brother’s beautiful magic almost made me lose it.

I flicked my Mage Sight off abruptly. “It’s him,” I hissed.

Sirius’ face stretched into a grin. “Good.” We both glanced at the chaos that was going on, with Snape growling at Lupin and Lupin trying not to provoke anybody. Sirius grimaced. “You’re going to have to clear this one up, Lys.”

I nodded.

“Ron!” I called.

The room went silent, Ron looking at me desperately. “Lyssie?”

I swallowed. I was suddenly very sorry that I couldn’t have told him, warned him about this, spared him the panic. But there was nothing I could’ve done; a warning would’ve changed his behavior, would have set off different actions — if I’d warned him, I might not have ever been able to get Pettigrew. He might not be mangled up and bleeding, but I would’ve failed Harry and Sirius and even myself; I traded my brother’s pain for this.

_Worth it,_ I thought to myself firmly, _And Ron would agree, you know he would if he knew everything. Harry’s like his brother, and he’s going to love Sirius, and he’ll hate Pettigrew; it’s worth it, it’s_ worth it, _Lyssie._

I choked down the desire to run to my brother and help his wounds with my meager first aid — doing that meant Sirius and Lupin wouldn’t have a shield, and that wouldn’t do.

“Come on, Ron,” I started, trying to assure him I was in control of my actions, “You really think I wouldn’t have recognized an Animagus from a familiar after all these years? The colors are different, you know. I used to lie to you all about it, and Alby never caught it because they _are_ similar, but I've been living with the rat nearly  _all my life._ Ron... I know what humans cores sing. Why do you think I've hated him ever since Percy picked him up?”

He winced at that, but looked thoughtful. Harry’s dark scowl uncurled, comprehension dawning — he knew I was a Soothsayer.

Snape, however, didn’t falter. He ignored me, facing Sirius, wand raised and still and ready. “I will not tell you again, Black. Holding one of our most promising students hostage… I would be well within my rights to _kill you where you stand_. This is more than enough reason. More _than_ ** _enough_** _.”_

Snape probably would’ve killed him as soon as I’d recovered from my attack if not for the fact that my wand was in his hand, the hand I was nearly holding. If Sirius _were_ using me as hostage, he had proven to be a quick caster; I might not be dead, but I could be seriously injured, and Snape would be loathe to risk that. Maybe if there weren't someone here whom Snape knew more personally, who spoke to him genially on a semi-regular and helped him with his House and had taken care of all of the flailing little firsties last year... Maybe Snape would've been more spell-trigger-happy, more impulsive, more emotional. I knew better than anyone, the soothing presence of having a Slytherin subordinate by my side; my boys forced me to be smarter about decisions, coolheaded, careful. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but maybe Snape worked much the same?

“If I may…” Sirius and I looked to our right, to Lupin. He was gazing at us mildly, hands folded in front of him — I believe Snape had his wand? — and posture relaxed, though I knew from my quick peek into Mage Sight that he was anything but. “Sirius, this is your accomplice? The person who’s been helping you hide, helping you plan for this? Guinevere Weasley?”

Sirius nodded eagerly, glad for the diffusion of tension, the distraction, the chance to explain. “She knew… She knew it was Peter, all along, Remus. She’s been trying to avoid him for years, been watching him for years, she wanted him dead as much as I did… I set out from... from Azkaban to kill him, to protect the pack... But she convinced me to let him live, to turn him in, instead… She helped me…” Sirius turned to the trio, looking at Harry pleadingly. “When I got out of Azkaban, I couldn’t even remember your name, Harry… I could barely remember _James._ My best friend- James- I could barely… I could barely think-”

Fuck. He was losing it, dammit; we were both going to bloody humiliate ourselves, weren’t we?

My grip on his sleeve slid to his wrist, hold loose, just my fingertips squeezing his pulse point gently. “Sirius,” I called softly.

Sirius blinked rapidly, a shudder going through him before his foggy eyes cleared. “Ah… Yes. Yes, it was- it- it was Lys who reminded me that… that Pettigrew was better off alive than dead. Even if we both hated him, she… I would never- I would never enchant Lys, I would never hurt Harry, I would never… Both of them are _pack._ Pettigrew needs to go away for their safety, if... if nothing else. Please. We can prove it. Pettigrew… he’s right there.”

“Professor,” I spoke, “You know my abilities better than almost everyone here. There is no way I would make this monumental of a mistake. That man disguised himself as my family’s pet after murdering James and Lily Potter.”

Slytherin to Slytherin, Snape probably picked up on a lot of things with that. One of which being that I knew his connection to Lily Potter and was appealing to that, another of which was that either I was under a very complex and strong enchantment if Sirius was also aware of my Clairvoyance and the specific details of my visions, which was likely impossible. Snape just saw the man have an episode, after all, and powerful wizard or not, twelve years of dementors _did things to you._ Snape had to know this. He was bitter but he had to know this.

His eyes narrowed dangerously.

(Then again, he was very, very bitter.)

“So you know about Miss Weasley’s abilities, then.” Snape sneered, wand rising from it’s slightly lowered position slowly. Sirius swallowed as it pointed to his chest. “That is all the reason I need. _Avada-”_

Oh, _hell no-_

_“Petrificus Totalus!”_

Snape’s spell was cut off as his limbs snapped to his body, spine straightening like a board, a look of shock in his slack face. He fell forward and slammed into the floor, a cloud of dust following him, causing Sirius to back us up and keep me away from another asthma attack. My eyes were wide when I looked at Ron behind the wand that did it, who looked just as stunned; perhaps he shouldn’t have been, with Harry and Hermione flanking him with their own wands out, which I suppose meant they were about to do the same thing, my brother was just the fastest.

“Ron!” Hermione called, outraged.

He turned to look at her, scowling. “I learned this spell from you, Hermione!”

“You just attacked a teacher!” she half-shrieked, pointing at the prone form of Snape.

“As if you weren’t about to do the same thing!”

“ _I_ would’ve Stunned him and then caught him before he fell! They can still feel pain in their paralysis, Ron!”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Can’t have the bloody bastard unconscious, Hermione. Lyssie thinks Black’s telling he truth? Then we need testament from someone trustworthy, and Snape’s a git, but Dumbledore trusts him. Even _he_ wouldn’t lie to Dumbledore once he knows the truth.”

“You thought all that through?” Hermione asked, looking baffled.

My brother shrugged.

(A little thrum of pride went through me. That was my brother, the strategist.)

Harry was the one looking cautious, now, however. Ignoring the other two's levity, he looked at me. “Lys… You’re really not… enchanted?”

I nodded, trying to smile reassuringly. “I’m really not. As if I’d let a _Gryffindor_ enchant _me.”_

Harry frowned. I tightened my hold on Sirius’ wrist when he leveled his wand at us, striding past Ron and Hermione protectively. His gaze was hard.

Hermione gasped. “Harry, what are you doing?”

He didn’t look at her, eyes trained on the both of us. “Prove you’re really Lys. Prove you’re not enchanted.”

“Harry, you wanted to listen to Black and Lupin, didn’t you? Just- Let’s listen to them, stop drawing your wand on my sister.” Ron insisted.

“If she was enchanted, he’d already have her,” Harry warned quietly, “her and all her memories.”

“Impossible,” Hermione said at once, with Ron giving a short nod to agree, “That sort of enchantment, the entire take-over of a person… That requires a lot more than a stolen wand, Harry. And she’d be much more mechanical, if he’d gone through all her memories, especially if she’s an Occlumens.”

“Mate, that’s my sister-”

“Prove it!” Harry yelled. The two beside him went silent. His voice wavered only a little. “I’m- I’m not risking anyone else! We only got Snape ‘cos he was about to- Just- Malfoy was possessed last year and we _talked to him_ , and we never realized anything for it!” His voice lowered. "If you're Lys, you would understand. You know I can't make the same mistakes we did last year. Not risking it."

_ Dietrich lying like a doll in the Chamber, white skin and pale hair a splash against dark marble — stands with her fists clenched at her sides, mouth shut and frowning — thinking — “Why do you do this to yourself, alone? Tell me the truth, Guinevere. Help me understand, so I can help. Just... why do you put it above us? What power does it hold over you, what do you fear, that you can’t at least tell me? Your best friend?” —  I don't think anyone's ever dared in a long time, Guinevere. Dared what? Laugh at me. It's... not quite as irritating as I imagined. —  fingers scrambling at his neck, it felt like ice, there was a fluttering pulse — tears in her eyes — “Dead. I will drain the life from Draco Malfoy, Imperio Lys, and have her cast the curse to kill her little friend. You won’t be alone in death, at least, Potter. Lord Voldemort knows mercy.” — blood dripped down her finger and she watched in dazed fascination as Dietrich's pale skin made it redder...  
_

_ Stop.  _

“Even Tom Riddle never managed to absorb all of Malfoy’s memories, Harry,” I said quietly, “He was a very excellent judge of character and actor, though. If he ever wanted to, he could’ve easily possessed and impersonated me.”

“Fine, then. This’ll be easy. Tell me something only you and I would understand.”

“You used one of the things I banned in Slytherin to kidnap me, which you planned to do with Harper and Lu, passing it off as an intervention. I’d just told you you’d never be able to be a git if you tried, but then you proved me wrong. Git.” I fired off quickly.

_Thanks, Harry. Even if you had to pretty much blackmail me up here._

_It wasn’t blackmail!_

_You used puppy-eyes. I banned that ages ago in Slytherin._

Harry’s eyes narrowed. Was my hint too obscure?

“Puppy-eyes,” he snorted. He lowered his wand. “Of course you’d go with that, Lys… Right, then.” He turned a dangerous gaze on Sirius and Lupin. “I want answers. You’ve dragged my friends into this, so I want the truth. I-I’m not saying I believe this story, but…”

He glanced at Ron, who nodded again. “I trust my sister,” said Ron, “Either you’re telling the truth or you managed to trick _my sister._ My sister who is a _Seer._ ”

I could see both Lupin and Sirius relax, shoulders slouching just slightly.

“Thank you,” Lupin said.

“We have proof.” Sirius fired off immediately, “Or, rather… _you_ have proof.”

Lupin nodded, taking a step forward and only slightly flinching when the trio took a defensive step back. He held out his hand, but nothing more than that. “Yes. Proof, we can give you. The rat — give me Peter, please. Now.”

 

**…**

 

On the night that I’d finally caved in and told Sirius about the price I had to pay, the surprise one that came from nowhere, the Baron accompanied me back to the castle as per usual and had asked me something.

_Are you prepared, young reincarnation?_

For what, I’d asked the Baron.

_To ruin the lycanthrope’s life._

It startled and horrified me that my answer was an unflinching, unhesitating negative. I was prepared.

The Baron had looked at me oddly, but then he’d smiled. I was truly a Slytherin. I went to bed that night feeling wide-awake and full of too many thoughts. Sirius had a mental breakdown because of what he was going to do: effectively murder/incarcerate one of his ex-best friends, and fulfill the other one’s greatest fear to do it. I, on the other hand, only felt a sliver of pain for the quiet professor who gave me occasional pointers on the Patronus and smiled at me and my boys’ ridiculous antics during class.

They explained to the trio and caught up amongst themselves, Lupin and Sirius. How Sirius saw the papers with my family on the front page, after our visit with Bill in Egypt. How Pettigrew must’ve faked his death by cutting off his finger and blowing the entire street up, killing all those Muggles as he did. How Sirius was assisted by Hermione’s cat, the cat that snuck him in to find me and often accompanied him in the day while I was at school. How the spell to force Pettigrew into his human form wouldn’t (unfortunately) really hurt.

Throughout all this, I studied Lupin and once refreshed Snape’s _Petrificus Totalus._

I really, really hadn’t paid much attention to Lupin at all this year. He  _was_ a good teacher, ready to answer questions and clarify in his lectures and provide extra information when prompted. He was mild-mannered and gentle-eyed, light scars running all over his sickly skin and dipping underneath his raggedy clothing. He never once-complained that I tagged along with Harry for Patronus lessons in the beginning, even though I knew he just wanted to spend time with his pseudo-godson; he’d only looked pleased when I succeeded in progressing with the Patronus, and polite when I assured him that I’d gotten all the pointers I needed from him, thank you, I’ll be alright to practice more on my own. Kind, is what I would say about him. Kind and thoughtful and…

Well, he reminded me of Jay, actually. Huh.

“Ready, Sirius?

Ron had handed the rat over peacefully, not protesting as I think he once did in canon. Sirius still had my wand — I’d shaken my head when he held it back to my questioningly, since I knew my elder-and-dragon-heartstring would accept him better than Snape’s or Ron’s or whoever else’s here — and Lupin retrieved his. It was fitting, I think, that the two Marauders trained their wands on the traitor, one of those wands belonging to me. Both men looked determined and angry, looking down on the rat in Ron’s outstretched hand. I’d long since released Sirius from my hold, stepping back; clearly on their side, but no longer acting “the hostage” for their protection.

“Together?” Sirius asked.

Lupin plucked the rat by his tail and let Ron beat a hasty retreat. “Yes, I think so. One the count of three…” His eyes were golden and cold, expression schooled into disdain but hiding a nearly palpable fury.

I smiled. Lupin really _did_ remind me of Jay.

“One — two — THREE! _Brutuhominus Revelario!”_

_“Brutuhominus Revelario!”_

There was a flash of blue-white, making my eyes squint at the sudden blast of light, but I wasn’t too interested in another Animagus transformation. I quite enjoyed the expressions on the Marauders’ faces; there was a sort of hunger to Sirius, a hateful glimmer in his eyes and tilt to his mouth that spelled _predator_. Lupin, though…

It’d be just like Jay, really, to look that pleasant and collected and frightening as hell. Like there was a hurricane behind him, ready to tear apart anyone that pissed him off. Lupin’s smile was sharp and full of edges.

“Well, hello, Peter,” said the professor, “Long time, no see.”

“S-Sirius… R-Remus… Ah… My friends… my old friends…” said the man.

Peter Pettigrew seemed just like the sort of person who’d be a rat. Weedy and hunched, twitching nervously, watery eyes darting about. Pale and flat hair slick with sweat, balding, ratty robes hanging on a thin frame. Smiling nervously, insincerely.

Sirius made to lunge forward, but Lupin grabbed him by the arm, halting him. My wand was tucked behind his ear, in fact, in the style that I’d copy from Luna every now and then and Sirius seemed to like. I had a feeling he didn’t want to put too many suspicious spells on my wand and rather wanted to beat Pettigrew with his hands, these being the only reasons he wasn’t casting Cruciatuses and such.

“We’ve been having a little chat, Peter, about what happened the night Lily and James died. That night, and the night Sirius was thrown into Azkaban… I’m sure you’ve heard, even while you were squeaking around, trying to escape Ronald Weasley. You’ve always been a very good eavesdropper, haven’t you, Peter? You were always the lookout for us at school, always telling us what teachers were looking down which corridors… what victims were hiding where…”

“Remus,” Pettigrew breathed, eyes widening with every short, shaky gasp, “you don’t believe him, do you…? He tried to kill me, Remus…”

“So we’ve heard.” Lupin said, his face still relaxed and pleasant, wand still up. “I’d like to clear up one or two little matters with you, Peter, if you’d be so-”

“He’s come to try to kill me again!” Pettigrew shrieked, stumbling away from Sirius but not daring to go further when Sirius snatched his wand from his ear immediately. “See? See!? He killed Lily and James and how he’s going to kill me, too… You’ve got to help me, Remus! He’s going to kill me, he even admitted it!”

“He’s not going to kill you,” I spoke coldly, watching Pettigrew’s eyes as they darted from exit to exit. “I made sure of it.”

“No one’s going to try to kill you until we’ve sorted a few things out,” Lupin added.

“Sorted things out?” Pettigrew said, voice pitching with hysteria, “I knew he’d come for me! I knew he’d be back for me! I’ve been waiting for this for twelve years!”

_ Stupid, pathetic _ _man_ , whispered something in my head,  _You've been waiting in comfort and ignorant bliss. I've had nightmares about the things you've done._

“So have I," Sirius hissed, voicing both our thoughts perfectly.

 

**…**

 

My attention, however, was forcefully wrenched away when I took a breath to keep myself from strangling Pettigrew alongside Sirius and happened upon that familiar scent of coppery blood.

_ Ron. _

Heart dropping in immediate worry, I quietly padded over to the Trio, all of them entranced by the floundering excuses and the snarling accusations being tossed around, and gently touched my brother’s shoulder. He was the furthest back from Pettigrew, having retreated behind the other two. Ron flinched at the contact but looked at me, dirt-streaked face and dark lighting making his eyes like blue beacons in the dark. There were a thousand things I wanted to say to Ron, because he  _deserved_ an explanation from  _his sister_ and not three virtual strangers whose problems  _shouldn't_ have been foisted on us, but...

But goddamn me, if I weren't terrible at emotional things like that. 

“Let me treat you, Ron,” I whispered, “You’re hurt and I can help.”

He glanced back at the Marauder trio, but lumbered along after me. I sat him back down on the bed, started trying my best with Healing without a wand — much harder and magic-consuming, but I had some practice with the spells. ( _Healing is not so difficult as it seems. It is an exercise in control, Guinevere... I can recommend some books, if you aren't adverse to the Restricted Section...)_ I had to tear parts of his jeans open, cleaning the wounds and the skin and conjuring bandages for him. At one point, Hermione had backed away from what was very much Harry's family drama and started to help, with both her own wounds and Ron’s, all our hands busy as we watched the events unfold with grim faces.

“Ought to recast the Body-Bind soon,” I murmured to Hermione once we were mostly done with the bad wounds, “Snape’s listening but I don’t think anyone wants to chance it.”

She nodded, looking too shocked to do much else but go along with me, standing and returning to Harry, moving closer to where Snape was stuck. I began to sew Ron’s jeans back up, ready to bind the leg on the outside at well, to give it stability. His left got the worst of it: savaged skin, bones broken in two places. One near the ankle, the other the fucking thigh bone, I forget what’s it’s called — the one that’s harder than bloody concrete, and Sirius Black _broke it._ That idiot, I was going to kill him after all this was over... Hurting my brother like this, honestly, I know we said needs and means about it, but  _my brother..._

(I hated that I still thought this was worth it. Why was I so guilty that I wasn't guilty enough?)

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly, binding his legs again — not enough to fix the bone, but to disinfect and protect and bind until Madam Pomfrey could get to him, “Ron, I-”

“I get it, you know.” said Ron, voice low and eyes trained on the speaking adults and Harry.

(Ron was a natural multitasker, inherited from our genius of a father. He was listening and thinking on two fronts. I did this, too, especially when I was walking to class and meditating/Seeing at the same time.)

“ _Ferula,_ ” I whispered, finishing my first aid.

Ron grimaced at the feel of his numbed leg being splinted. He seemed to tear his eyes from the conversation about Peter Pettigrew’s weakness, focusing his attention on me. “I get it,” he repeated, his voice gentle and rough, “You think I- Lyssie. Lys. We — all of us, me and Percy and  _all of us_ — researched Seer-Clairvoyants years ago. When you were stuck in that... in that _coma_... We bothered Dumbledore  _so much_ about it. He told us- He- I know, alright? I know... I know you don’t have a choice, because… because it’ll be right bloody bad, if you try to piss with Fate. I know that, and- and I can’t blame you, for keeping secrets, because the alternative is- is you dying, or something, and I- _we_ won’t have that. None of us.”

“I’m still-”

“Sorry, yeah. Because… that’s you, Lyssie. You don’t- You don’t give yourself a break, ever. Which is right bollocks, you know, because if there’s someone who needs to bloody relax, it’s you. But… But you’re my little sister, Lys, and if we've got to get a little hurt so you don't have to be, that's okay. If you have to lie so that you can stick around with the rest of us, _that’s okay_. I know you.”

“Do you really?” I asked tiredly.

_Seer, but Slytherin. Slytherin, but sister. Sister, but stranger. Reincarnation._

Ron smiled tightly. “I know you, Lyssie. You’re family.”

I know it was a tense moment. I know Harry and Hermione and Snape were being explained to, that they were learning of the Secret-Keeper switch, the faked death, the escape from Azkaban; all that important stuff. And Ron knew that too, but his blue eyes were trained on me because — to my big brother — I was more important than that. And it made my chest hurt in an entirely different way than an hour prior, and my face felt too warm and stuffy.

I know it was a tense moment, but I just loved my brother so much in this moment it was silly. I leaned forward and hugged him hard, feeling calm. I’d known he’d be on my side when he knew all of the truth, but it was _so nice_ to have my choices be somewhat validated. Ron hugged back tightly, silent but solid. He didn't even have to know the full picture to forgive me, and it wasn't fair for him but I couldn't help but be grateful for it.

“Ron!”

We pulled away from each other as the rat-bastard scurried to us, kneeling down and pawing at our legs with nine fingers.

“Haven’t I been a good friend… a good pet?” Pettigrew begged, eyes glassy and jaw trembling, “You won’t let them kill me, Ron, will you…? You’re on my side, aren’t you?”

Ron’s face contorted with anger. “You used to scare Lyssie _to death_ when we were younger! I let you sleep in my _bed!_ I let you sleep in my bed when _Ginny_ would sneak in!” my brother snarled, doing his best to wrench away from Pettigrew’s hands.

Pettigrew knew just how protective Ron was of his little sisters, and gave up on that front. He whirled around to me, ignoring when Ron drew me closer to him and tried to get me away. Pettigrew had tears very solidly in his eyes, now. “I was a good pet… a good rat… You’ve never liked me, I know, but you’re a kind girl… so good to your family… I was part of that, I was a loyal pet, wasn’t I? You wouldn’t let them do it, would you?”

“How many times will I have to remind you, filth?” I asked, grimacing at the sight his kneeling at my feet. “We’re not going to kill you, Pettigrew.”

“Azkaban is no better! I’ll die there, I’ll die- I’m not strong enough- I can’t go there!” Pettigrew screamed, throwing himself away from us and landing in a heap before Harry, pawing at the boy’s jeans frantically. “Harry…” Pettigrew said, voice shaking just as much as the rest of him, kneeling on the dusty wooden planks, utterly alone in a room full of people who wanted him to die, “Harry… you look just like your father… just like him… He and I were friends, we were friends… you- you called me Uncle, Harry, you used to call me Uncle Wormy…”

Sirius Black snapped, stomping forward and roaring, “HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO HARRY? HOW DARE YOU FACE HIM? HOW DARE YOU TALK ABOUT JAMES IN FRONT OF HIM? HOW DARE YOU TRY TO CLAIM HIM AS FAMILY WHEN YOU KILLED THEM?”

“Harry,” Pettigrew persisted, “Harry, James wouldn’t have wanted me killed… He always protected me… he was my friend… James would have understood, Harry… he would have shown me mercy… He would have… I can disappear — none of you will ever hear from me again! I can swear it… an Unbreakable Vow, if you'd just… James, he would do it, he would- Mercy… because we were _friends_ … You look just like him- just- just like him-”

“On the contrary,” said another voice, “James Potter was quite merciless. An Auror, Potter, do you know what that is? A hunter of Dark wizards… certainly started young, your _father_. One would _think_ … you would remember that, Pettigrew…”

We all started at the sight of Snape picking himself off the floor with as much dignity as he could muster, a sharp wand movement cleaning him of dust and debris in an instant. Sirius, Harry, and Lupin looked ready to jump him, but he glared at them all before anyone moved.

“I am not a fool Gryffindor,” said Snape coolly, “I know when I am outnumbered, and when I’ve been misled. Besides-” He sneered at Sirius. “-you’ll need my testimony if you wish to be freed, mutt. The fact that your life will forever be owed to your greatest enemy, I can think of no better punishment for a pathetic wizard like _you_ , Black.”

“I feel like I ought to curse you for that, _Snivellous_ , but I’ll let it slide in light of more important matters. Like Pettigrew.” Sirius growled.

Lupin nodded to Snape. “Thank you, Severus.”

Snape glowered. “I wouldn’t accept your thanks if it were the only thing saving my life, Lupin. Hurry up with it, wolf. Pest extermination is far below professors’ pay grade. Unsurprising that you’d take it upon yourself to clean up after you crawled with the filth.”

“Fuck you, Snape.” Sirius snapped.

“Sirius,” Lupin sighed.

“This doesn’t mean anything, Lupin. We will discuss the _mutt_ after the rat is taken care of.”

The werewolf nodded agreeably. “ _Guenantemis Peter Pettigrew,”_ cast Lupin.

I didn’t know the spell, but it somehow forced Pettigrew to straighten his stance, though his knees firmly remained on the ground. His hands flew behind him, seemingly bound my nothing, and it looked like he was awaiting judgement. He certainly cried like he was.

“You sold Lily and James to Voldemort,” Sirius snarled, shaking — not with fear, like Pettigrew — but with barely restrained anger, “Do you deny it?”

Pettigrew whimpered.

“Answer, _rat,_ ” Snape whispered, the words like an explosion in the silence of the room.

Another whimper. “Sirius, Sirius, what could I have done?” he managed to get out, looking between the last of the Marauders desperately, “The Dark Lord… you have no idea… he has weapons you can’t imagine… I was scared, Sirius, I was never brave like you and Remus and James. I never meant it to happen… He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named forced me-”

“How touching.” Snape snarled.

“You have no ground to stand on, _Death Eater.”_ Sirius spat. In another instant, he whirled on Pettigrew. “Just like him, Peter. Just like Snivellous- You were his SPY. YOU’D BEEN PASSING INFORMATION TO HIM FOR A YEAR BEFORE LILY AND JAMES DIED!”

“He- he was taking over everywhere! Wh- what was there to be gained by refusing him?” Pettigrew looked at Snape. “Y-You understand, don’t you, Severus? You were one of us, too. You were like me-”

“I AM NOTHING LIKE YOU!” Snape roared.

_The silver doe, pale hooves shifting the leaves around it. There was warmth and light and beauty radiating from its starlight hide — “Doesn’t your dad like magic?” “He doesn’t like anything, much.” — sitting side by side, red and black, small smiles and hidden bruises and curling flower petals. He glanced over at her, she was looking at the daisy in the palm of her hand. — laughing, heaving books onto the table, pages and old ink and pointing fingers, eyes bright and mind filled with questions and debate. “You should’ve been a Ravenclaw, Lils.” — Always._

_Stop._

“You don’t understand! He- He would’ve killed me!”

“THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!” Sirius was held back by Lupin, once again. “DIED RATHER THAN BETRAY YOUR FRIENDS, AS WE WOULD HAVE DONE FOR YOU!”

“You should have realized,” Lupin said quietly, “if Voldemort didn’t kill you, we would.”

“Not that we’re going to, either,” Sirius added, smiling nastily, “You’re going to feel every bit of what I felt these past twelve years, Pettigrew. You’re going to wish you’d never existed once the dementors are through with you.”

“No… No, no, no… NO!” Pettigrew squealed, struggling against his bonds, “There was nothing I could do! He was going to kill me! I-I-I’m not going to Azkaban, I’m not taking a Kiss- IF I GO, I’LL TELL THEM EVERYTHING!” He craned his neck to face me, eyes wide and teary and smile triumphant and crazed. “I’ll reveal you- I’ll tell them everything I know about you! Malfoy still works for the Ministry, he’ll hear it all from me- I- I’ll tell them! I’LL TELL THEM YOU’RE A CLAIRVOYANT, GIRL!”

Ron lunged off the bed and tried to reach Pettigrew, hands reaching for his throat, but his leg gave and he slammed into the ground. Hermione gasped his name and tried to help and stop him, Harry going to the two of them for solidarity. Lupin looked confused as Pettigrew kept struggling. Sirius started laughing.

“Clairvoyant? What…?” Lupin asked. He turned to Sirius, who was still giggling. “Sirius, snap out of it!”

I pushed off of the bedpost, coming around to Snape. I’d have to prevent him from attempting to cast another Killing Curse, wouldn’t I? Snape, however, saw my movement and glanced at the laughing Sirius and the clueless rest of the room. Pettigrew looked very much like he wanted to sink into the ground, wanted to turn back time and take his words back. He very much didn’t want to die, which seemed to be worse than Azkaban in his list of priorities. And really… if I hadn't had a plan, if I hadn't realized he  _knew_ , did he really think blurting out my secret would save his life? Fool.

“Mutt. _Explain._ Pettigrew is fully aware of a very important piece of information. _Why_ are you going to keep him alive?” Snape bit out, re-cementing my good opinion of his intelligence. He saw he was missing something and hated it, enough to turn to Sirius for answers.

Sirius straightened from his bout of gleeful laughter, registering the heightened panic in the room and sobering in response.

Lupin nudged him with his shoulder. “Sirius. You said there was more to your story, before, but you had given enough for the ignorant of us to believe. This is… the rest of it, I take it?”

Sirius nodded. “Yes. I said… I came to Hogwarts, slipping in as a dog. The cat — your cat, Hermione — helped me for a while. My thoughts were… My head was foggy, but I knew what I needed. Protect Harry, find Lys. The cat helped me find Lys, and he kept me grounded when Lys was unavailable or unwilling, those first few days…”

“Why… Why look for Lys? Why choose her to help you?” Harry asked.

“Well… I suppose the Nundu’s out of the bag, hm, Lys?” Sirius glanced at me.

I nodded, a little sourly. “Well, Peter bloody Pettigrew decided to shout it out to the world, so I suppose it’s fine.”

“Yes, well.” Sirius smiled, directing his explanation to Harry and the others. I suppose he thought that was a safe option, or was savoring looking at his godson in the flesh. Maybe both. “Lys is what you’d call a moderate-superior Clairvoyant. In short, she knows things — past, present, future, if she has a catalyst for information, her magic will seek it out for her to See. Peter invaded her home… Seer-magic protects its Seer, you know, and Pettigrew is a Death Eater. If there was anyone who I’d have been able to convince to help me, with my head all screwy from dementors and being so close to my Animagus and everything else, it was Lys. And she did… After threatening to kill me and feeding me chocolate.”

“You left out the part about Septimus Weasley,” I murmured, feeling embarrassed and indignant at the mention of how I was a goddamn softie that first meeting.

“Yes. Ron, you would know — your great-grandfather, Septimus Weasley. He was… He was an Uncle to me, and before he died, he told me that in my greatest hour of need, I should follow the cat leading me to the girl with the Mind Eater’s book in her hands. The Clairvoyant descendent. If I did, then… She… She would have… _has_ … helped me.”

Ron narrowed his eyes. “Dad doesn’t talk about his family much, though… I know about Septimus. A little too Black, for a Weasley, he says. But just because some old fart told you to approach _my baby sister_ doesn’t mean you should have, bastard.”

“Ron!” Hermione whispered in outrage.

My brother let her scolding roll off his shoulders, focused on Sirius, who snorted. I smirked at him; I _knew_ he’d like my unapologetic, painfully honest big brother.

“I know,” Sirius replied, “but I’m glad I did. You would’ve met a very different person tonight, if not for her. The sacrifices she’s made for this moment… Not even _I_ would understand. But I found her, the girl my Uncle warned me about, and she’d known all her life, practically, who Pettigrew was. Lys had, in fact, been waiting _for me._ And when… And when I came to her, crippled by dementors, she made sure to get me back on my feet. When I told her I wanted Pettigrew dead, she told me to keep him alive and prove my innocence, all because his trial would benefit Harry more than anyone else.”

The trio turned wide eyes on me.

I shifted, slightly irritated at Sirius for ratting on me. Goddamn emotions. Too unpredictable and hard to plan around. “Pettigrew’s trial means Sirius walks free. Sirius walking free means Harry doesn’t have to live with his shithead Muggle family. Or if he _wants_ to live with his shithead Muggle family, at least he’ll have a wizard guardian who can Confound them into being less shitty. Among other things.”

“Lys…”

“Not that this isn’t _touching,”_ Snape sneered, clearly as done with emotional talk as I was, “do get to the point soon, mutt. Miss Weasley’s Clairvoyance is a secret the Headmaster and her Paterfamilias would dearly like to keep that way. The rat knows. If you haven’t got the stomach for it, I’ll _gladly_ put Pettigrew out of his misery.”

Sirius growled at Snape. “Listen here, Snape. As much as I want the rat dead, my first priority is my godson and new goddaughter. The rat’s not going to die. The rat’s going to rot in my old cell at Azkaban after he tells the world what happened, and only that. He won’t say a word about Lyssie, we’ll guaranteed it.”

“And how are you going to _guarantee_ that, Black? A pinky promise?” Snape sneered.

“A Memory Ward.”

The adults went silent. By the looks on Lupin’s and Snape’s pale faces, they knew exactly was a Memory Ward was, and who’d invented it, and quite possibly _how._ We did, after all, reference the fact that I possessed the Mind Eater’s book, which was illegal. Of course, they hadn’t thought about it when Sirius said he’d been looking for the girl with the Mind Eater’s book, but now that we bring up Memory Wards…

Well. The _adults_ all knew about the book.

“What’s a Memory Ward?” Hermione asked timidly into the silence.

Looks like this was mine, the way Sirius and Snape looked at me first.

“It’s a Legilimencic technique and ritual,” I answered, the trio looking at me curiously, “Exactly what the name implies, really. The Legilimens sifts through the target mind’s memories and chooses what they’d like to ward away from the consciousness. Sirius and I are going to ward Pettigrew’s memories of my Clairvoyance. He’s not even going to realize there’s something he’s forgetting when he thinks of me.”

Ron brightened at the prospect of me not being in danger. “That’s brilliant!”

“It’s extremely dangerous and highly illegal.” Snape stated flatly.

“Dangerous?” Harry prompted.

“ _Illegal?”_ Hermione muttered.

Sirius shook his head. “Besides the point. We don’t have time to debate the moral implications — the longer Pettigrew’s memories aren’t warded, the more difficult the ritual will be.” _We don’t know how long it will take but the moon will rise in a few hours so we need this done NOW_ , is what I heard Sirius not-say. “No matter what, Pettigrew either gets his memories warded or dies. Tonight.” He glowered at Snape. “I would’ve thought that anyone fighting for Dumbledore would choose the road with the least bloodshed.”

Snape was about to retort, probably quite scathingly by his expression, but bless Lupin’s soul, he stepped between them.

“Enough.” Lupin announced, “Arguing for old time’s sake will get us nowhere. We’ve all agreed that Sirius is telling the truth, yes? And we all understand that Pettigrew possesses very sensitive information, as well?”

“Correct,” Snape bit out.

Lupin nodded. “Then here’s what will happen: Sirius will perform the Memory Ward. All of us will escort Peter to the castle, where we will explain to the Headmaster, and likely the Aurors if they’re called. No mention of illegal rituals will be made, because no mention of Miss Weasley’s Clairvoyance can be made. Sirius has confidence in his ability to do the ward, and has obviously planned this in advance along Miss Weasley, so we go along with that, at least for now. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” Sirius said immediately.

Snape, however, looked at me sharply. “Miss Weasley.”

I winced. I hadn’t noticed that I’d edged closer to Sirius, away from Snape, until his hand draped over my shoulder, warm and familiar. I started at the touch, glancing at him and receiving a comforting look. _I’m on your side, remember, little partner?_ that look said. It bolstered me, that look.

“Professor?” I answered, a little less bleak than I would’ve a few seconds ago.

He ran angry, dark eyes over my face. “You Saw this.”

My fists tightened. I met his gaze. “I planned for it.”

“The consequences?”

“Too far-reaching for me to See the entirety of. I’ve paid what I could already. I will pay more.”

I saw Snape’s jaw strain. “We will be having _words.”_ Snape hissed.

I nodded. I’d expected little else. I had, after all, gone behind almost everyone’s backs to meet a criminal every night for the sake of this one. Practicing Legilimency with my already strained mind, habitually performing an illegal and very dangerous ritual from an equally dangerous book, planning revenge against a full-grown wizard who could have very well hurt me if he’d known… I had taken some very big risks. The only excuse I had for the secrecy was that I didn’t want to tempt Fate any further than she was already; a good excuse but hard to believe, especially on the other side of this mess. And there was always the argument that I could've just done nothing, which my only defense would be,  _No. I couldn't._

“Severus?” Lupin asked tentatively.

“…Punishment will be doled out afterwards.” Snape said reluctantly, teeth gritted. Which was as good as an agreement, and we all knew it. 

(Slytherins did not waste. Slytherins adapted and conquered. For Snape to ignore all the sacrifices I’d made throughout the year, which were surely leading up to this? It would be stupid, especially if he was not fully aware of all the cards in play. Hell, _I_ wasn’t fully aware of all the cards in play, but I was gambling for a good ending anyways. Snape wouldn’t spit on that, not to the detriment of one of the strongest students in his care.)

(I would have to thank him, later, for trusting me, even after all this deception. Or perhaps he trusted Fate? Which would be even more impressive. It was hard to trust Fate, after all.)

“I’ll explain everything later,” I called softly to Ron, who was looking as baffled and nervous as the other two by now, “I promise. There’s just not enough time right now, Ron… Please trust me for a little while more.”

He held my gaze. Then he nodded, curt and shaky. On some level, he realized that I was the mastermind behind all of this. “Right. Just… Just do what you have to do, Lyssie, and then we’re putting this murderer away, okay? Then we’ll talk.”

I smiled, half-fond and half-guilty. “Thank you, Ron.” I turned to Sirius, smile wiped away. “Shall we?”

“Wait — Sirius, Miss Weasley’s going to help you with the ritual itself?” Lupin asked, alarmed.

Snape snorted. “As if it wasn’t obvious by now,” he muttered derisively, probably judging Lupin’s intellect, “Do you think my student has been sneaking about every night just to _coddle_ the mutt?”

Sirius, rolling his eyes and muttering under his breath, waved my wand over Pettigrew, the man sobbing in fright and slumping down. He gripped the back of Pettigrew’s tattered robes with his fist, easily dragging him along the floor. Snape curled his lip as Sirius passed, the trio watching, Harry and Ron casting cold glances at the rat. I turned to follow Sirius after a bit, smirking at the THUD-THUD-THUNK noises that must’ve been Pettigrew being unceremoniously trailed down the splintered, dusty stairs.

I grinned at Lupin, relieved the ritual was finally underway. “I was the one with the Mind Eater’s book, Professor. Sirius could hardly translate the ritual without me. How do you think we practiced a two-mind ritual without each other?”

With that, I left Lupin with the impression that we learned how to perform Memory Wards by practicing Legilimency on each other. Not… entirely untrue, but it did give a bit of confidence to the idea that _only Sirius_ was doing the ritual and I was just there to oversee. Snape, by his narrowed looked, probably detected my bit of deception, but I couldn’t linger on that. We’d already wasted enough time — them arguing about _me_ performing a ritual on Pettigrew using Sirius as a _human anchor?_ Sirius and I both knew there wasn’t a moment to waste, and our friends knowing that would definitely devolve into something more than a moment.

Needs and means, after all.

I wasted no time, walking in step with Sirius. “They’re too stunned by all the revelations to really think straight,” I commented lightly, “The only reason no one’s not arguing harder is that they were blindsided and we were not, and they know that.”

“Follow the leader,” Sirius muttered, grunting when Pettigrew’s — unconscious? yes, Sirius seemed to have Stunned him at some point — body ran into a turned-over hallway table. “Would’ve thought Snape would give a bit more fight, cold-hearted bastard he is.”

_No,_ I thought grimly, _Snape has more emotional stake in this than you’d think. He’s probably more emotionally compromised than Hermione at this point._

That, however, was not my secret to tell.

“Once they get their heads on straight, they’re going to realize how bloody irresponsible all this is. Harry, Hermione, and Lupin will have questions about me. About the ritual. About everything we’ve been doing. Snape, too — he’s going to be furious at us. Me for associating with you ‘recklessly’ and you for dragging me into this.”

“You were already involved!” complained Sirius.

“That’s not how he’s going to see it, and you know it. The only reason he hasn’t killed you is because he hates Pettigrew more, and you and I are the only ones with a solid plan for how to deal with him and get the most out of it.”

“As if he cares about all the benefits of Pettigrew going to Azkaban. He doesn’t give a bloody fuck about Harry, does he? Screaming at him like that… I ought to punch him in that crooked nose of his, bloody git…”

“No, I rather think he knows that the only choices are to ward the rat’s memories or to kill him, if only for my sake. Protective of his snakes, Snape; and Alby doesn’t want my abilities out, and Snape is nothing if not Alby’s man.” I reasoned, opening the door to the small drawing room for Sirius to haul Pettigrew through. “Plus, you know Slytherins. We like our revenge to be long and painful. Azkaban is much more painful than death; even the rat knows it.”

Sirius smiled something closer to a grimace. “He doesn’t know the half of it.”

I looked at Sirius carefully. There was always an undercurrent of anger and bitterness when we mentioned Pettigrew, but it came out in full tonight. A wild sort of rage simmered in every angle of his body, like he was just waiting for an excuse to jump on Pettigrew and beat the life out of him. It made him look much more the ex-con than the victim, much more the killer than the godfather I’d accidentally acquired.

“He will,” I said, turning from him and facing forward.

“He will.” Sirius repeated, laughing darkly.

My smile mirrored his, and it reminded me strongly of the night I’d first suggested the idea of Memory Wards; this time, however, our vicious grins were tinged with a dark sort of triumph. After this, as long as Pettigrew went to the Ministry for trial, we will have _won_.


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For what it's worth, I intended to finish the climax and then it ran to like 50K characters and that was ridiculous, so I had to cut it. Sorry about that. And... Y'all are gonna hate me for this chapter, but I hope you enjoy it anyways. :') 
> 
> Thanks for the kudos/bookmarks/comments/etc. support! :D I adore each and every single one of you.

 

**…**

 

Wizarding rituals were the physical representation of spells, the truest a spell could ever be. Wizards were not advanced or powerful enough to translate things like Alchemy or Necromancy into their compressed versions (which were spells) but every spell could — theoretically — be broken down into the basest of components and acted through a ritual. I _liked_ rituals, breaking spells down; I’d always had an interest in ritual magic, and experimenting with Harper and, on occasion, Nate, made me like this complicated stuff _more._

The rugs were rolled back, the specific chalk-ink-maybe-blood mix painted on the floor. Only half of our usual candles were up, spots of soft, dull yellow in the dark. A central, huge circle interlocked with four smaller ones, the layers made of runes and matrixes to organize and interlock and connect them. There was a whole different matrix in the opposite corner of the room, too, much smaller and only a single center circle; that one was for Sirius, for the anchor. Our normal routine was that we ourselves pushed the candles to the side and shoved all the furniture away and did the painting, _we_ transformed the room… Having it waiting for us like this was a little odd. (It was soothing, having to go through practiced motions of putting something as complex as this ritual together. Having it ready made was weird.)

“Got to lock the last components down… Get the east and west?” Sirius asked.

“If you get the north and south.” I offered.

He nodded in agreement. “Quickly.”

Sirius dumped Pettigrew in the center circle, tied him down magically. We started flitting about the room, checking the ritual and preparing the last of it with practiced ease. A bundle of black cohosh, the long, pale flowers and bud-stems soaked in conjured water mixed with my hair… this went to the east circle, placed gently down on the floor. Sirius tossed my wand to me and I caught it, tapping at the runes in its circle, locking the plant into its place. 

The west circle had sharper runes, locked with white heather soaked in water with Sirius’ hair. I glanced up at him to see him drawing runes from our special mix onto his forehead and sternum, in the style of the west circle. When he moved to prepare the north and south components, I went to the tin of stuff and the cracked, terrible mirror nearly hidden in all the blankets we’d put up, drawing runes into myself in the style of the east circle. 

East for beginnings, for the mind; west for endings, for the anchor. North and south to forge a sympathy bond, trick Pettigrew’s mind into thinking my invading consciousness was his own. Runes to lock down the sacrificial symbols, to channel the magic properly, to guide me to and from. The cardinal directions for power, the central rune matrix for focus, and my magic to supply the bulk of the price. In the candlelight, it all looked very cultish and suspicious, but Sirius and I had joked enough about it not to care anymore.

All in all, it was a pain in the ass but we were quick and efficient.

Sirius had set up his anchor matrix near his favorite cushions, sitting tense and excitedly. He grinned at me as I walked by him, handed him my wand. Quick motions and whispered words, Pettigrew was magically lifted up — just by his shoulders, head and legs lolling uselessly, still in the confines of the ritual circle — and then _Ennervate_ ’d so his eyes opened. I stepped forward and Sirius flicked his wrist, jerking the rat’s face towards mine. I wanted to have a few words now that I wasn’t under intense scrutiny by skeptical friends.

He whimpered at the sight all around him, an unknown ritual and two of the people who despised him the most, and it was a good sound.

“Hello, Peter Pettigrew,” I said pleasantly, smile anything but. “See, I’m normally quite careful when I do this. Sirius and I have a really cooperative test subject, so I make sure not to jar his head too much and sink into the sympathy bond properly. You can synergize with the target mind by only eighty percent and still accomplish what you’re trying to do, did you know? It just sort of scrambles the target mind.”

“It shouldn’t be an issue,” put in Sirius gleefully, “Twelve years spent as a rat will scramble anyone’s brains, don’t you think, Lys?”

“No… No, please…”

“Oh, yes. Not to worry!” I said cheerfully, “You’ll still feel the effects of dementors, Pettigrew. Quite keenly, in fact. Maybe a little too keenly… Who’s to say? Helvynya Prevett noted some subjects became more paranoid, would babble nonstop, and never practiced Occlumency properly ever again.”

“Especially so if she added a self-destruction lock to the ward,” added Sirius helpfully, “where if someone _did_ try to see what was behind the Memory Wards, the mind would simply… collapse. They’d never find what they were looking for. That’s something we’re doing, by the way.”

“Sirius… Don’t let her do this, don’t- Don’t let them take me… Azkaban… I won’t survive there, not after this- Sirius, it wasn’t my fault-! Have mercy!”

The words ‘it wasn’t my fault’ was probably was made both our smiles drop.

“You murdered Lily and James Potter,” Sirius replied, all mischievous fun drained from his voice in an instant, “You murdered _thirteen innocents_ to frame me. You supplied information to Voldemort for who knows _how bloody long,_ but at least the year prior to his fall _—_ I don’t want to know how many Order members died _because of you._ And you’d throw my _goddaughter_ and my _godson_ to the Ministry wolves, to Voldemort _again_ , if it meant your safety. No, Peter… You have long since given up your right to _mercy_.”

It was only right that Sirius have the last word. Pettigrew would never remember this, after all.

“ _Ego imploro dea Magia,”_ I murmured, locking eyes with Pettigrew and feeling the thrum of my magic in my skin, rising up to meet my demands, feathery and quick, “ _ostende mihi viam.”_

“I’ll be right beside you, Lys,” came Sirius’ soft voice.

I felt a smile at the assurance.

 

**…**

 

_Your breath does not come easily, but you trail after them even so. They’re all smiling and laughing and screaming for their lives — or, at least their sanities. McGonagall’s detentions were so boring that you knew all of you would go insane if she kept you for more than two weeks. Covering her Transfiguration classroom in catnip and releasing every cat and kneazle you could forge the Headmaster’s signature to order probably covered more than two weeks, hence the yelling in between laughing. You join in, happy. The halls and students crowding them pass by in blurs. You turn back, stumble, see Professor McGonagall on your heels._

_“Hurry up, Wormtail, or she’ll catch us! Might eat you, eh? Cats and rats, yeah?”_

_James. He’s smiling, lagging behind, hand offered to you, hair wilder than it usually is._

_A bubble of laughter. You hold it back. “Stop talking about it! She terrified me already!” you say._

**Lys, no. Not these memories… Please.**

**…I’m sorry, Sirius.**

**Don’t focus on me. You’ll return too early that way… You know what to do.**

**…Guinevere Lysandra Weasley.**

_You are curled in a hand. Irritated; you have just been jostled and woken. The boy beckons his sisters over. They are no longer so unsteady. The darker one has always been quieter, less clumsy than her twin but still uncoordinated. She smiles just as wide, though. The Weasleys are all very smiley, and sometimes you wonder if the time will come when you’ll have to leave them. It’s not a pleasant thought. They are comfortable. But pale eyes trail down to you, and you squeak at the expression that crosses that child’s face._

_You have known revulsion and hate, but you saw them in different faces. Lucius Malfoy. Severus Snape. The Carrow twins. The Dark Lord himself. Little Lys looks at you like that, for a moment._

_The moment passes._

_Maybe she doesn’t like rats. Your owner says so when she stomps away. Children are strange like that. It doesn’t matter._

**Memories are too early.**

**It _is_ a rather wide scope. He’s known me almost my entire life, after all.**

**Ergh. That’s something we have in common. Narrow it down, Lyssie. You’re not bleeding yet but I’d really like to avoid that at all. Merlin knows your brother will kill me.**

**All of them, too. Right… here: Lys. Clairvoyance.**

_They’re whispering. All of them, together. That is rare and you know it. You watch for these things because you must. To look and listen is to live. It’s easy to squeak a little, draw absent-minded hands to pick you up; your owner holds you against him. Always warm and comfortable. You listen. The Weasley siblings do not often crowd together like this. And where is Lys?_

_“Is this it? Did you get the book?”_

_“Wait, is that stolen? Wow, Bill-”_

_“Not so loud! Shhh!”_

_“Stealing’s bad! The Auror’s will arrest us!”_

_“Yeah, but we need it so we know how to help Lyssie, and Lyssie’s more important stupid laws.”_

**And you wonder why I am so willing to do what it takes to protect my family.**

_“Ginny, you shouldn’t say that-”_

_“At least not out loud, Gin.”_

_“Right, you can think that all you want, but never get caught, see.”_

**I understand, you know.**

_“All of you be quiet! Found it. Clairvoyance.”_

_“Is Mage Sight in there, too? Dad said she had that, remember? Both of them!”_

_“Maybe it’s not, since Dumbledore said it’s not really a Seer thing anymore. Bill will just steal another book, don’t worry, Ron.”_

_“Don’t_ say that _in front of Ron, Charlie!”_

_“Just read the thing, Bill!”_

_Listen. Watch. Learn. You listen and you watch and you learn and you barely breathe. You’d heard the Weasleys all scrambling about, and when Dumbledore had shown up in the Floo you’d panicked and immediately curled up in the apron pocket of Molly Weasley, but you hadn’t been able to piece together why, exactly. Something about a river. Drowning. More of Lys Weasley’s ridiculously powerful accidental magic. Something about her nightmares, again._

_It makes sense, now. Nightmares were Clairvoyant Seer visions, negatively influenced by her emotions. Powerful magic because she was a Seer-Witch, the last of eight children — eight, the infinity number. Her sensitivity to magic, her hyper-intelligence, her maturity. It makes sense. You understand the little one much better now._

_Does she know?_

_Does she know who you are? What you’ve done?_

**I know far too much. He wasn’t just an informant, you know. He was Marked for a reason.**

_You could kill her._

**Over _my_** **_dead body._ ** **No one _touches_ the pack.**

_No. But wait. If she knew, surely she would act. She would have exposed you. No… More likely, she senses something off about your magic. Which means all you have to do is stay away from her. When your owner’s turn to comfort her in the night comes, you just have to hide behind someone else. Their magic will dwarf yours. If you stay away, she shouldn’t think about you, and if she doesn’t think about you, she won’t See. But you have to watch her._

_Out of sight, out of mind. But you must keep eyes on her. If she Sees what you’ve done…_

_Whatever it takes, you tell yourself. Whatever it takes to keep yourself alive, you’ll do it. Whatever it takes._

**…Let’s begin, then?**

**No, gather all the memories first. We’re not going to be sloppy.**

_You are watching the littlest one thrash in her sleep. It began with a whimper. Then it got worse. She smells of sweat and fear. Her blankets are strewn around again. Your owner has set you down on the girls’ dresser. Her older sister, bright and pale, is touching at the littlest’s face. Your owner has caught one of the flailing, chubby hands. He’s whispering to her soothingly. Her eyes snap open but she doesn’t see her brother, you don’t think._

_You wonder._

**Am I taking the Mage Sight out, too?**

**Maybe that’d be best. The Mage Sight isn’t as important, but it seems too intertwined with the Clairvoyance for you to pick them apart well.**

**Alright. I’d like to get out of here… I feel rat-like. Twitchy.**

**Focus on me, Lys. Not too much, but don’t get stuck.**

**Right.**

_They’re surrounded, she chants, They’re surrounded and they’re going to die. Who’s going to die? you wonder. Our uncles, the little one said, crying now, They’re strung up like dolls._

_She gazes down at you. Older, now, but still young. Too young to look like that. It hurts you, a little. You are a good pet. You are loyal. Her twin pets your head with two fingers, still fascinated, ignoring her attempts to make her stop. Weasleys are stubborn. The older girl-twin picks you up, scowling at the younger._

_“Why don’t you like Scabbers, Lyssie?” asks your owner. They think you’re not listening, because Ginny has you now and she’s quite far. Your hearing is better than they think, and you know how to listen even if you’re doing something else._

**Bastard. I hate that I forgot about him, sometimes, too busy with my brothers.**

**I know the feeling.**

_She loves talking and playing and the loudness all Weasleys have, but the little one always gravitates towards the third eldest. The oldest two are busy, loud, bright. The demons twins more so. Ron and Ginny are children, laughing and crying and screaming the way children do. All except the littlest, Lys. She loves her quiet, bookworm, older brother, and does not love his rat. You._

_“His colors are ugly.” You can’t judge someone or something by just how you like colors, says the third eldest. Percy. It’s not fair that you don’t like people with yellow colors just because you don’t like yellow. Right? What if you meet someone with a really nice blue but they’re mean? It’s like that, explains Percy. “You don’t really understand how colors work,” says Lys. There are no such things as bad colors, Lyssie._

_“Yes,” says Lys, “there are.”_

**His colors and song are revolting. Probably because he’s weak and spineless.**

**Magic is tied in with strength of will, after all.**

_She is smaller than her twin. Her bird bones speak of someone meant to be short and solidly built, not lanky like her father. But as a child, she sits in the Paterfamilias’ lap and looks up with her head leaning against a chin chest, dwarfed. Long limbs and baggy robes drape over her. She is darker than her twin. She is quieter._

_What’s wrong, little queen?_

_There are lights on but they’re dim and far. The moon is high. Fire crackles. It’s cold. She grips at her father’s fingers, looking up at him but surely not seeing. There are tear tracks on her face. She smells like salt and grief and fear. Lys always smells like fear, when behind that child-sweet all children have._

_“I Saw them die.”_

_Who?_

_“The only ones I didn’t See were Charlie and Percy and Ginny.”_

_You wonder. Charlie has always treated you well. He likes animals. Percy is very protective of you, keeping you from the reach of the demon twins or the scolding of his mother. Ginny is always curious, and she tugs on your tail and fur, but she means nothing by it. You wonder if that’s why they’re still alive._

_You wonder if you’re going to be the one to kill them._

**He’s lucky he never tried.**

**If he ever does, I’ll tear him to pieces. But Lys-**

**Later.**

_Do you only see bad things?_

_No, I don’t. (They’re strung up like dolls.)_

_She whispers about the good dreams to her sister. She holds her hand and trembles. You do not think she dreams about good things most of the time. You do not think she dreams well even half of the time. She used to wake and breathe out her gasps and tears. It used to be clumsy. Now she wakes and doesn’t look like she feels a thing. Mechanical as she remembers that she is awake and not Seeing. She hides it well but you watch._

_You’re doing better, now, aren’t you, little queen?_

_You watch the little one enough to know that she has not stopped the nightmares. She has just learned how not to react to them outwardly anymore. She had learned how to bury herself in playtime and her siblings so she is not mechanical with Occlumency._

_Yes, I am, Dad._

_You are intrigued by another liar under this roof. She looks at you in the passing. She’s older. Her face closes off. You have known revulsion and hate. You wonder what your magic — what your soul — looks like to her eyes._

_There are no such things as bad colors, Lyssie._

**I think you synergized more, Lys. Nearly completely. His mind won’t suffer a thing at this point, but you’ll have a hell of a time detaching. Are you okay?**

**…I’m just. Remembering.**

**Don’t. This is why Prevett said never to do this with someone you shared a lot of memories with.**

**It would’ve been more dangerous with you.**

**I know.**

_No… No, no, no… NO! There was nothing I could do! He was going to kill me! I-I-I’m not going to Azkaban, I’m not taking a Kiss- IF I GO, I’LL TELL THEM EVERYTHING! I’ll reveal you- I’ll tell them everything I know about you! Malfoy still works for the Ministry, he’ll hear it all from me- I- I’ll tell them! I’LL TELL THEM YOU’RE A CLAIRVOYANT, GIRL!_

**Finish it soon.**

**This is quite a bit harder than it looks, you know. Drawing the entirety of a ward in my head and impressing it into memories is _not_ easy.**

_She is sobbing into her brothers robes. The twins and her own twin are with her. Percy — old owner — is nearby, looking lost. Your owner, Ron, is shaking where he sits. You feel odd. You do not see the littlest one cry anymore. She’s learned how to make herself stop. She mastered hiding the nightmares a long time ago. Sometimes you see her at home; sometimes she cries into her hands a bit, but not often._

_You watch her cry for the death of her best friend. You wonder if Sirius cried over James._

_You wonder who will cry over you?_

_“She hasn’t cried like this since she was five.”_

_Summer vacation. It’s warm and there’s dew outside, you can smell it. You pad around on your paws. You used to limp without one of your fingers, but you’re used to it now. Twitch at the sound from the girls’ room. You wriggle inside, the corner of the door is splintered enough that you can. The eldest is sleeping. The younger has snapped awake, breathing hard. She crawls to her twin’s bed, holds her the way you know she does when she’s dreamt of death. You watch Lys more because you need to know if she gets suspicious of you. She never sees you, so she doesn’t See you. But you watch._

_You wonder if you’re going to be the one to kill them._

_“I’m going to protect you,” she whispers to her sleeping sister, “All of you. Promise. You all kept me sane so I’m going to keep you all_ alive.”

**Lys…**

**Not now, Sirius.**

_The Chamber of Secrets has been opened, and her best friend is inside. She’s sobbing that it’s her fault, that she should’ve known. Ron and Harry Potter are sitting away, looking lost and sad. The common room is solemn. You don’t think you’ve seen it this empty and tense and heart-breaking, not in this generation. It used to be quiet like this all the time. The_ Daily Prophet _used to bring a lot of bad news. A lot of deaths._

_Not in a while, though. Not since you murdered James._

_“She hasn’t cried like this since she was five.”_

_Idiot boy. You know her better than her brothers do, all the watching. Listening. Learning. You listen and you watch and you learn and you barely breathe. The littlest one is a Clairvoyant. To be a Clairvoyant is to suffer. She cries far more often than they know, and only in the mornings, when you can’t tell if you’re awake or still dreaming._

**Lyssie, that isn’t healthy. Occlumency isn’t supposed to be used as emotional suppression-**

**But it always, always is. It’s also not really important right now. I’m almost done…**

_You wonder if you should scamper over to her, curled in her sister’s bed and grounding her mind with stupid promises — promising to protect anyone but yourself_ is _stupid, you know this — because you watched her grow up. You watched all of them grow up. But Lys still looks at you like she knows how many people you’ve killed, so it wouldn’t help. She’s afraid of killers. You wonder if you’re going to be the one to kill them. You wonder if you’ll make her break her stupid promises._

_You wonder and you twitch and you fear but you do nothing._

_You don’t owe anyone anything. No matter how many times you’ve watched that little girl cry._

**…I think I’ve got everything.**

**Lys.**

**I’m going to begin the ward.**

**_Lys._**

**I don’t want to talk about it.**

**…**

**Later. Okay? Later.**

**…Alright. I’m holding you to that. Lock it down, Lyssie. Time to come back.**

**Yeah. Okay.**

 

**…**

 

_She is the enemy. Sirius’ hands clench and unclench, like he wants to snap your neck. He could do it. He’s Mad enough. He almost killed Snivellous, once. He can kill you now. Dementors do things to people, you know this._

_“He’s not going to kill you,” the little girl you watched grow up says, “I made sure of it.”_

_She’s going to kill you._

_No one is going to cry over your death, are they? All the better that you’ll make sure you won’t die. Whatever it takes. You can’t die. She’s powerful. People like powerful things. Who would look at you twice, if you handed a Clairvoyant to them? No matter if she’s just a little girl, crying and grieving for a family that isn’t dead yet. She was made to suffer._

_You are not._

_(You are not above scrambling away on hands and knees to get away from the bullies.)_

_She grips at Ginny in her sleep. Ginny’s sleep, that is. “I’m going to protect you,” she whispers to her sleeping sister, “All of you. Promise. You all kept me sane so I’m going to keep you all alive.” A stupid promise. The littlest Weasley is made for stupid promises._

_You are not._

_(You cannot look at a future full of death and place yourself in front of it just so some red-haired brats will live. You don’t know how to be unafraid of something like that.)_

_There is fire dancing between her fingers, a conjuration that took much practice not to burn her. She points out the indigo-blues that tinge on the sky that is Percy’s core. Lys Weasley is surrounded by her brothers, laughing as they brush against her shoulders and arms._

_You are not._

_(“Where are the Potters hiding, Wormtail?”_

_“G-Godric’s Hollow, m-my Lord.”_

_“…Oh? Not even going to beg for their lives, Wormtail? Even Severus begged, for his Mudblood.”_

_“…I-I-I swore m-myself to you, my L-Lord.”_

_“Ha! Is that loyalty, Pettigrew? Or is that just your pathetic nature?)_

_When she thrashes in her sleep, the demon twins slip into her room and sandwich her between them, rubbing at her back and face and speaking quietly. It’s odd to hear them quiet. She mutters something about war and blood. She wakes in tears and is always cradled back by the hands of family._

_You are not._

(James I’m sorry James I’m sorry sorry Lily Harry sorry Sirius I had to I’m sorry I’m scared I’m sorry I’m sorry James I didn’t want to die someone protect me James Sirius Remus help me I didn’t want to kill you I didn’t want this I’m sorry I just wanted to live I just wanted)

_Lys is sobbing into the demon twins’ robes. She is often surrounded by first-year snakes, leading them like the little queen her family calls her, and one of them has been taken into the Chamber of Secrets. You don’t know much more than that. She mourns for her friend._

_You are not._

_She returns from the Chamber triumphant and, more importantly, alive. You know, listening and watching and learning, that she could have easily died. She does not celebrate this. She is ashamed of using her friend so that she could live._

_You are_

_Lys helps her mother in the kitchen wordlessly, happy to serve her family._

_You are not._

_(If you were a Seer, would your friends be alive right now? You wonder.)_

_You are n_

_You are_

_There are no such things as bad colors, Lyssie. “Yes,” says Lys, “there are.”_

_You are_

_You_

_(Who?)_

 

**…**

 

~~ _Lys_ ~~ Breathe.

The shock of air being sucked into my lungs made me feel like ice. Or maybe I was just cold.

Until I wasn’t. Large, warm, familiar _something_ wrapped around my shoulders, my upper arms, keeping me from keeling over. Something was running down my face, salty and coppery, slipping into my mouth and down my chin. My head was throbbing.

“Lys- Lys. Lys, c’mon, open your eyes-”

~~ _head lolling blood running from her nose runes on her forehead swipe fingers across Lys are you okay? mess up the runes disconnect properly did it work? are you okay?_ ~~

I scrunched my eyes, drawing pain to my forehead, and then opened them, breathing in through my nose and almost choking on more blood. The room was significantly darker, and I was in a bit more pain. Sirius blinked at me, one hand supporting my weight — half-supporting, with me being on my knees — and the other with its sleeve drawn up, wiping at my face.  ~~ _blot it out get her clean she’s gotta breathe_ ~~ He smiled warmly when I made a little groaning sound.  ~~ _good she’s back back back good job Lys_ ~~

“You alright?” he asked.

The area just under my breastbone was radiating pain and I was shivering.

He frowned.  ~~ _ow I can feel that_ ~~ “No. Not quite.” 

Sirius turned, waving my  ~~ _your_ ~~ wand. “ _Accio Blood Replenishment. Accio Headache Relief. Accio Breathing Potion.”_ ~~ _just in case your lungs are weak enough for another attack_ ~~

“Thanks, Sirius.” I croaked, dutifully downing the summoned potions and fondly, exasperatedly taking the extras he kept shoving at me.

~~ _you’re welcome_ ~~

I winced. The mental link was very strong. I was seeing double, my hands on the potion and drinking and me on my knees looking like a mess, drinking potions, holding myself up. It was very odd, and we usually never got quite this bad. Made me dizzy.

Sirius grimaced. “The completed ward must be a factor.”  ~~ _think you can stand?_ ~~

I nodded, allowing him to pull me up as he did. We staggered together, both of us confused who was in which body for a moment, heads swimming.  ~~ _this is not something we planned for, is it? dizzy dizzy swaying standing_ ~~ We breathed in sync and my vision settled and we grounded ourselves, then glanced at each other warily.

“Pettigrew?” I asked.

“Rat in a cage,” he replied.

I nodded, starting to wipe away the runes drawn on my forehead and chest more than they already were. Sirius flicked my  ~~ _yours but somewhat ours kind of_ ~~ wand and forced Pettigrew into his rat form — the man himself was deeply unconscious, a heap in the middle of the ritual and floor  _pathetic_ — and swiftly Transfigured a cage from things lying around. He handed me the cage and took apart the ritual.  ~~ _let me take care of it Lys you’re still dazed from it_ ~~ I attempted Occlumency but winced at Sirius’ mental reprimand.

“Not yet, Lyssie,” he muttered, wiping away evidence of the ritual as per prior plan, “Can’t have our heads thinking the the other’s part of it. Our Occlumency skills would be gutted if that happened. Give it a moment.”

“I feel sick.”

“Shouldn’t. We did it, Lyssie.”  ~~ _his memories are warded Lys we did it_ ~~

I swallowed blood. The last of such, I think, for now. “I didn’t know how much he thought he was family until I saw it from his eyes.”

~~ _Lys no it’s okay I promise_ ~~

I shook my head. Smiled. “Ignore me. I’m tired.”

“You did good, Lyssie.”  ~~ _even if it doesn’t feel like it Lys don’t let what you saw change how you think about that traitor bastard Lys I’m proud of you_ ~~ He hesitated. Then, quietly, “We don’t have to talk about everything else, Lys. You can rest, first. You deserve that much.”

I looked at the sleeping rat in the cage.  ~~ _where he belongs_ ~~ He’d be hard-pressed to transform in it. Maybe a stronger Animagus’ magic might be able to protect him while he grew in size, grew human, but Pettigrew? He was weak, twelve years of laziness and betraying his own core and lack of practice.  ~~ _how he didn’t go insane without casting is beyond me_ ~~

He might’ve, actually. Gone mad without practicing magic. It happened, sometimes; wizards and witches were meant to use it, since we didn’t have any anatomical differences from normal, magicless people. The only thing that differentiated the average wizard from a Muggle was our core and our ability to use it.

“It’s not about what I deserve,” I mumbled, gripping the cage harder.

Sirius grinned, sharp and unsettling. “No, it’s about what _the rat_ deserves, hm?”

I gave a short nod. “Yes. Now, we’ve got to explain some things to…”

~~ _??? shock something's off wait wait Lys_ ~~

Sirius wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at the floor, a section of the north circle, half-smudged and wiped away, the white chalk bright against the dark and aged wood. His expression was thoughtful, and it was mostly instinct and carelessness that got me prodding at him mentally, putting a bit more of me into the mental link and  ~~ _sliver of light from the window from behind the blanket we put there light light pale shaft on the floor that means something we never loosen the blankets enough for that and_ ~~

My heart dropped to my chest. The chalk was bright because it was reflecting light. All the candles in the room were out — the ritual magic must've put them out or something. I gazed at the band of light on the floor. Sirius surged forward, tearing the blanket near the edge stuck to the top of the window, the ripping sound a blast through silence. The window was stained and dirty there were splashes of light on the floorboards, now, making the dark room highlight with deep blues. The world was ink outside, save for the white circle in the sky, enormous with how close it was.

“The moon rose.” I whispered needlessly.

Upstairs, I heard someone scream.

 

**…**

 

~~ _get the rat be ready to run get to the tunnel now_ ~~

I didn’t bother arguing with Sirius. There was a clenching in my chest, doubled because I could feel my own worry, and I knew he was bounding up the steps by three’s, desperate to get to Harry.  ~~ _my pup my godson is he okay no no no_ ~~ I winced when he slammed into a wall in his haste, rubbing at my  ~~ _our_ ~~ aching shoulder as I rushed out to the living area and wrenched open the door to the Whomping Willow’s tunnel.

The door was wooden and sturdy, but not too thick, I could…

_Shit! Sirius! My wand!_ I projected in panic.

~~ _sorry Lys can’t right now HARRY RON HERMIONE we have to go go now go now now now_ ~~

I heard shouting upstairs. Sirius’ voice. There was an echoing BANG! and then I winced as my  ~~ _our_ ~~ shoulder ached again. Someone’s arm was under my shoulder, I was lifting them up, it was gone, and then I was seeing  ~~ _Snape pushing Hermione along she’s supporting Ron he’s limping Moony is tied up behind but it won’t_ ~~ Harry thunder down the steps, nearly tripping at the end and whipping around to help Ron and Hermione transition from steps to flat ground. Snape was rounding them up, looking pale and shaken, Sirius was trailing behind-

“HARRY! Get your friends, get Lys, GET OUT! RUN!” Sirius roared.

Something else roared, too. Or should I say howled?

~~ _fuck! Lys summon wand now_ ~~

“ _Accio my wand!”_ I hissed, pushing enough magic into the spell that my wand smacked my palm hard enough to sting.

“Potter, out from Weasley’s arm — the tunnel’s not wide enough for three of you, not the entire- Weasley, Granger, you first — be quick about it!” Snape was barking out orders, wand out and flicking at decimated furniture, making the bulkiest of it all crash into the upstairs hallway, blocking the way.

There was a terrible, echoing noise — a mix of a howl and a scream of agony — and Sirius had, at some point, transformed into his dog form and was growling at the stairs.  ~~ _I’m the last out Moony won’t attack maybe if he recognizes pack brother maybe we can push back your bite pay it off maybe maybe maybe_ ~~ Snape had finished shoving all the furniture he could in Lupin’s way. Ron had fallen over trying to get to the tunnel door and Hermione and Harry both were yanking him upright again even as his face paled, freckles stark against his cheeks, his eyes flitting about in terror until they settled on me.

I had to ignore him, and looked at my Head of House. “Silver transfiguration spells?”

~~ _smart girl good keep him in here if we can Lys can’t be bitten I promised I’d try he’s tearing the ropes I can hear it_ ~~

“I can conjure,” Snape replied tersely, flicking a spell at Ron that made Harry and Hermione have an easier time dragging him across the floor.

“I know wood to silver transfiguration, I have to be one of the-”

There was a crashing sound.  ~~ _he got out he got out he got out_ ~~ Another howl that pierced my ears, stumbling around drunkenly in my skull and making me wince. Everyone had flinched at it, Sirius letting out a keening whine for his enhanced hearing in that form.  ~~ _hurts loud sound brother brother Moony he’s hungry_ ~~ A curio cabinet went flying from the upstairs hall, tearing itself to pieces on the ceiling above us; the trio and I let out screams as the debris scattered around us, only missing by luck.  ~~ _he hears us he’s hunting his wolf is disoriented doesn’t know why he’s here again have to hurry_ ~~ Snape had stumbled back, but he waved it away and snarled something at the trio. Hermione and Ron finally got through the tunnel, Harry was hesitating, anticipating my turn to go in.

“ _Invectinihilitus Argenti!”_ Snape shouted, his wand swinging and large, needle-like glimmers of silver twisting into existence, slamming themselves into the walls and floor. Sirius yelped when one barely missed him, turning to glare at Snape,  ~~ _bloody bastard_ ~~ who muttered an entirely flat, “It seems I missed.”

I jabbed my wand, flooding it with power. “ _Lignarovogentum!”_

Uneven patches of silver bloomed all over the walls and doors, my core stuttering with drain of magic.  ~~ _careful Lys Harry’s in the tunnel please go follow now NO NO NOW LYS_ ~~

A worn sofa _tore_ through the railing and sent dust and splinters everywhere. I covered my face with my wand hand, ducking into my elbow, and when I looked up again I saw Snape’s frozen form and a werewolf at the top of the stairs.

…

_What the FUCK?!_

He was enormous. He wasn’t goddamn human size at all. He was _at least_ three times bigger than his human self. A wolf’s head, slightly stunted snout, snarling, maw dripping with spittle that made white fangs _gleam_ in the moonlight. The skull was large enough to _fit my goddamn head inside._ Thick, dark fur covered his entire body, along with the ripped remains of his robes, hanging off him in tatters not even fit for bandaging. His shoulders were slanted forward, arms to his sides — too long, not wolf-like, too human — crouched with thick legs postured for lunging, claws the length of my _entire hand,_ nearly tailless, _GLOWING EYES-_

This was not canon at all. Those werewolves were like… twiggy little demon dog things… they were… whatever. What the fuck- This wasn’t a goddamn werewolf, this was a fucking NIGHTMARE BEAST. What the hell was this, _Bloodborne?_ How did- How did Snape even _survive?_ No wonder Sirius was a fucking _bear-sized dog_ , he’d have to be to even _touch_ this godforsakenly huge _terroranimal_ -

He growled, deep and low and rumbling, and I distinctly noticed his nose snuffing at the air before he lurched forward, dust thrown up with his steps, and focused golden eyes on me. I felt my blood freeze when his claws and face and ears pointed towards me, mouth opening into a fangy smile dripping with spit.

I hadn’t really read over much werewolf lore after I found out about the three-nights-per-moon-cycle thing. That was the most relevant. But I _did_ skim through the books, wondering what else I’d been mistaken about with my arrogant, Muggle assumptions… And there was something about how, werewolves, when they scented blood for the first time they transformed, all they wanted to do was hunt. There was more, there was always more, but that was the big thing. It was called a blood frenzy; werewolves even ignore pack-mates if they were hungry or restless enough.

My pale wrist was smeared with drying blood.

I was paralyzed at the sight of it.

~~ _LYS GET OUT_ ~~

A wave of _protectprotectprotectattackbiteclawfightfightprotect_ washed over me and a black blur streaked up the stairs gracefully, slamming into the werewolf’s — into _Lupin’s nightmare-beast form_ — front, making it roar and snarl. I sprang to action, gritting my teeth when a claw raked across Sirius’ side, flashing forward and gripping onto Snape’s still form, shocking him to look at me. There was a second of sheer, unadulterated fear in Snape’s expression before he smoothed his face into Occlumency-borne calmness and swept me to his side protectively, rushing the both of us to the tunnel door-

~~ _lunging forward he smells you he smells your blood LYS HE’S HUNTING_ ~~

Sirius’ panic and instinct overtook me. One moment we were half a step from the door, the next my hands shoved _hard_ against Snape’s ribcage and my magic drove us to the sides. Snape smashed into the opposite wall, eyes wide, and I’d banged my back into the archway to the unserviceable kitchen, and something splintered the tunnel door and tunnel wall and was _screaming_.  ~~ _silver hurting him Lys get up get up get up get away! I promised I promised I promise Lys_ ~~

There was a hulk of muscle and fur and glowing, golden eyes in the middle of the tunnel, hissing the the patches of silver all over the door he’d evidently just _shattered_. Snape and I needed him out _right now,_ as in right _fucking_ ** _now._** There was a goddamn werewolf the size of ‘I could fit in his stomach right now’ and he was apparently hunting me.

(If he got me, he might do more than bite. I don’t think Sirius and I anticipated just how much stress my body went through, performing rituals beyond my ken and with only a smattering of Leglilimency training; we didn’t expect me to bleed so much.)

(I don’t think we anticipated any of this at all.)

“ _Ventoxecanora!”_ I shrieked, gripping the cage to my chest and feeling my head ring at the terrible, high-pitched whistle that my wand emitted and Sirius could hear.  fuck fuck no bad SOUND bad sound hurts PAIN pain pain

Lupin whined, the pitch gravely and shrieking, and another BANG! and flash of light tossed him clear across the room, nearly into the hallway where Sirius and I did our ritual.  ~~ _old blood smell he wants you he’s hunting YOU_ ~~ Snape looked on the verge of collapse after that, but he stumbled forward and I scrambled up, both of us reaching for each other. He grabbed onto my hand, the only one I had with the cage taking the other — _God_ ** _dammit_** _I needed to_ ** _Shrink it_** _or something_ but I didn’t know how to do that with Pettigrew still inside — and he fled into the tunnel, intent on keeping me with him this time, following the flickering _Lumos_ of his wand. I felt Sirius tear into the werewolf, tasted the hot copper in my mouth and felt my nails sinking into flesh  ~~ _stay down Moony you can’t have them any of them you can’t no NO NO where are you going CONCENTRATE ON ME dammit_ ~~

Snape dragged me along, hand sweaty and fingers clamped to my wrist, heedless of the way I stumbled over roots and slipped on muddy earth and flinched and hissed when I felt phantom claws scratching my sides and flank and face.  ~~ _only fought me this hard once when he smelled humans in the Forest but Prongs was there shit ow he’s stronger than I am_ ~~ The sound of wood splintering and snarling dogs and short, aggressive howls followed us as we ran blindly down the tunnel. Neither of us spoke, breathing hard and listening to the sounds of the dogfight — they weren’t getting much further away, not consistently, which led me to believe that Lupin  ~~ _Moony_ ~~ was trying to follow us and only Sirius harassing him was keeping him from barreling down the tunnel to eat me.  ~~ _please make it Lyssie get out, go go go maybe you won’t get bit tonight please Merlin don’t let her get bit_ ~~

I don’t think we were even halfway when we ran, literally, into Harry’s back. Or Ron’s, really, because the tunnel was a bit wider here, enough to accommodate the three of them side-by-side for a while; the thing was uneven, as my bruised shins and arms learned.

“Potter!” Snape spat, “Granger, Weasley- Get on with it! There is a werewolf _chasing after our hides_ , one would _think_ you’d adjust your pace accordingly!”

Trust Harry to knock Snape out of his grim silence and straight into annoyance.

“Professor! We tried to Levitate him but he kept getting stuck when the tunnel got narrow and winding and the Featherlight wore off-” Hermione began, looking very panicked from what I could see of her.

“Move aside! Potter, Granger, herd Weasley if you _please._ ” Sneered the professor.

I witnessed Snape bodily _lift_ Ron into his arms — my brother protested and writhed until Snape hissed something at him that I couldn’t hear — and Harry and Hermione flattened themselves against the tunnel to let Snape go by with enviable ease.  ~~ _stronger than he looks_ ~~ Ron wasn’t even under a Featherweight Charm anymore, if they tried to Levitate him. Hermione and Harry pulled and pushed my forward in turn, Hermione gently coaxing Pettigrew’s cage from my arm (“You know more spells against werewolves, Lys, you’ll need both hands.” Hermione reasoned, voice shaking and eyes blown wide.) Harry stayed behind me, a warm hand on my back when I struggled to follow Snape’s dim wandlight, a tether to my own head and not Sirius’ bloody fight.

~~ _rip tear ow ow ow my shoulder fuck Moony dammit blood everywhere he’s throwing things and clawing out the silver in his way he’s trying to clear it so he can get out BACK BACK dodge blood my shoulder pain PAIN PAIN_ ~~

My entire body shuddered when I felt how deep that cut was. My hand flew to my shoulder, fingers digging into the robes and trying to remind my head that _I wasn’t hurt_ and it should really separate from Sirius’ pain, because every moment I tuned into him meant he might tune back, and I couldn’t distract him right now. It wasn’t Occluding so much as it was keeping ourselves distracted, which was a technique that worked wonders for me in every aspect of life. Harry, however, noticed the movement.

“Lys?” he asked, in between heaving breaths.

My chest was burning but the Breathing Potion Sirius had gotten me was temporarily preventing an attack (which would make it worse later, but eh). Wizards and witches in general weren’t usually that fit, at least not for long distance bullshit like this _motherfucking tunnel_ , so I was sure I wasn’t the only one with burning muscles and tired legs and gasping for breath.

“It’s nothing,” I replied quickly, lowering my hand. The roots were thicker now, less clumped dirt and more irritating, slithering steps.

Which meant I could start transfiguring silver again.

“Are you hurt?” he asked urgently.

(Another burden in this tunnel? Ron was already the tallest of them, crippled as he was; I would not be a welcome problem. At least… that’s how I was thinking at the moment, mind focused on _survivesurvivesurvivelivegetawayrunrunrun)_

“ _Lignarovogentum!_ It’s from the ritual- _Lignarovogentum!_ Sirius and I had to link our minds temporarily so I can- AGH. _Lignarovogentum!_ I can sometimes feel it when Lupin scratches him. He’s- _Lignarovogentum!_ He’s trying to keep Lupin’s interest and contain him in the Shack, but-”

“You’re covered in blood.” Harry finished for me.

I nodded, not that he could see it with me spamming silver everywhere my eyes could look.

“And I’m human,” I added, “Werewolves like fresh, human blood- _Lignarovogentum!_ And I daresay that Lupin hasn’t transformed potion-less in a while, has he? His wolf’s probably more bloodthirsty than ever- _Lignarovogentum!”_

“Is there a wand movement? Specific?” Harry asked suddenly.

“Straight jab, a lot of magical power- _Lignarovogentum!_ It’s wood to silver, only aim for roots.”

Harry did his best to help and we left splotches of silver in our wake. That distracted us enough that I startled badly when suddenly there was fresh, cool air and the world was washed in moonlight, an annoyed but certainly not-raging Whomping Willow curving above me.  ~~ _out you’re out you’re out thank Merlin keep going run run run_ ~~ I stumbled into Hermione, who’d stopped before she rammed into Snape. The professor turned slightly, still princess-carrying Ron, while the three of us caught our breaths — if I weren’t currently under effects of a potion, I’m sure I’d be choking for air just about now.

“Weasley.”

I looked up at him, forcing breath through my nose to slow it. “Professor?”

“Black’s status?”

Ah. So he’d definitely heard me tell Harry about the mind link. He would probably make it to the correct conclusion that, yes, I modified a highly dangerous and illegal ritual so that I could use a human being as my anchor, and then would likely gruesomely kill me for it later. But for now, I sunk into the link and grit my teeth at  ~~ _bloody shoulder wounds blood pain PAIN PAIN Moony no don’t you recognize me brother? another slash copper and silver smells everywhere hot blood pain PAIN_ ~~

I snapped back into my head and almost reeled from how odd it felt to break out of the link that forcefully — Sirius and I were usually a lot more delicate in handling it.

“Still fighting,” I reported grimly, “Lupin’s trying to get past him, through the tunnel, I think. The silver and Sirius are keeping him in the Shack, but I’m almost completely sure Lupin’s in a blood frenzy and won’t calm down any time soon.”

Snape made a frustrated sound, testament to his stress with how calm the man usually was behind his Occlumency barriers. “The longer a wolf takes the Wolfsbane, the more violent the next potion-less transformation. Incompetent _beast._ Granger or Potter, whichever of you is strongest, take Weasley — we will be retreating to the castle immediately. Weasley, notify me if the mutt lets the wolf get the best of him — it’s only a matter of time.”

Amazing, how my Head of House could make absolutely everything into an insult.

~~ _AGH pain pain PAIN really fighting me Moony WAIT away from there Lys? LYS pain PAIN fear no NO no no shit he’s ripping it all out Lys all the silver you transfigured and Snape conjured it’s being thrown away Moony still smart in this form he knows he knows he’s trying to get through_ ~~

I turned around to glance at the tunnel-

Then Hermione shrieked and Harry yelped, and I turned around again and saw the small, metal cage Pettigrew was locked inside bulge and bend and snap into flying pieces as a rat became a human once again. I was distantly aware of how Harry was thrown back, how how Pettigrew’s twig-like form managed to knock Hermione over, more focused on the newly stolen wand in his hand and the wild look on his face.

There were more movements, more details I should’ve paid attention to, but everything felt numb and buzzing as I tried to register the fact that-

_“Sollicitus Natus!”_ his voice squeaked out.

-Pettigrew was _free._

“NO!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I'm sorry about that cliffhanger. BUT ALSO!
> 
> :3 I got more fanart... HUGE THANKS to moontipped for this [fantastic rendition of a scene back in chapter 31](https://moontipped.tumblr.com/post/176185180697/memory-wards-within-the-control-of-the-legilimens)!!!! I am very, very grateful to have received it! :) Thanks for sharing and drawing!!!


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hrnnnnn... Iffy about this chapter, since there's a lot that isn't explained with how fast-paced the action is, but I _promise_ I'll explain better next time. This is the final part of the third arc's climax, the rest will be winding down and prep for fourth arc, so all y'all calm down! XD
> 
> Thanks, as always and ever, for reading and commenting and generally being a really kick-ass, supportive audience. :') You're all the best! Enjoy!

 

**…**

 

My mind was in slow-motion, trying to wade past the _horror;_ the very reason Sirius and I had suffered all these years was _escaping._ Pettigrew was _escaping._ The thought turned over in my head and made the world freeze on its axis.

Then time caught up and I had to shove the horror deep, deep down. 

(Plans always blew up in my face. I had to learn how to adapt to that — was I or wasn’t I a Slytherin?)

Harry and Hermione had been thrown on the ground. Their hands and faces were sporting small, slow-bleeding cuts from the shrapnel of the metal, propelled by the force of Pettigrew’s magic. Their blood looked black in the moonlight, and a part of me rebelled at the sight of it.

(Pettigrew was obviously stronger than I’d accounted for. I underestimated him. I _underestimated him_ and he _made mine_ ** _bleed_** _.)_

The other part of me was hyper-focused on the three figures standing in front of me. Pettigrew. Snape. _Ron._

Pettigrew’s spell — _Sollicitus Natus?_ — had been cast with a stolen wand, pointed at the biggest threat here. He’d caught Snape off-guard; the professor was shock-still, staring at nothing, frozen in a position half-shielding Ron. Ron was swaying, still injured, deprived of blood, his eyes wide as Pettigrew took Snape out of the game. The sudden, surprisingly competent enemy appearing in our midst shocked us all to silence. Pettigrew had been fast… too fast. We’d barely realized he was a human before he’d cast his spell on Snape, and now he had a wand and he was between me and my brother-

I felt wounds throbbing all over my body, most of them shallow but painful, and the dark was broken by glowing eyes and splashes of silver.

~~ _Lys Lys Lys what happened are you okay Lys I felt your panic are you?_ ~~

Then Pettigrew was facing me, wand still pointing at Snape.

_I’m fine, Sirius. Concentrate on your fight,_ I thought firmly, _Distraction means death. Keep to yourself, keep to your fight, and I’ll keep to mine. You know that’s how we keep our heads separated the best._

~~ _okay but PAIN PAIN no no Moony don’t not there lead him to silver yes okay Lys stay safe_ ~~

“One o-of… One of the Dark Lord’s favorite spell collections… the nightmare one…” he stuttered out, not for fear, but for how his eyes focused and unfocused — his mind was probably a little confused from what damage I’d done to it — “Snape won’t move, he can’t- he can’t see anything that’s going on right now, and- and if any of _you_ try anything, I still… I still remember how to- how to cast a Cruciatus…”

I felt my blood boil. “With your weak will, it wouldn’t even tickle.” I spat.

Which meant that if I let him cast his little _Crucio_ , I’d have the time to subdue him. Snape would understand, he wasn’t an emotional idiot, and it wasn’t like he was one of mine anyways, so all I had to do…

Pettigrew gave a dazed smile. “I broke Sirius’ Transfiguration with- with my _weak will.”_ His eyes rolled, setting on the members of the Golden Trio for a half second each. “M-Maybe if they weren’t Gyffindors, they’d- they’d risk it… but you, Lys, y-you _like_ Snape, and they- they’re too _noble_ to… they’re too noble to let me cast it…”

What a little shit. Good thing he was wrong-

~~ _Lys?_ ~~

Nails scraping on wood and chips of silver, the broken chandelier reflecting moonlight through the high windows, where is he where is he-

_Watch your left flank, he’s trying to get around, and get out of my head, Sirius!_

I snapped back to my own mind just in time to see Pettigrew’s pathetic face grow a wavering grin.

“But my Lord taught us to never take chances. _Disuplapsa! Accio!”_

Snape’s blank-faced form was thrown limply out of the way, tossed carelessly to the side, and I’d drawn my wand and had it pointed by the time Ron was dragged forward and Pettigrew hid behind him. My wand was sparking with my magic, channeling my anger as well, but it was at my own brother’s throat instead of Pettigrew’s chest.

Pettigrew, for his part, looked like he only had a single spell in him. His form was shaking, shoulders heaving; it looked like he’d collapse soon, but as much as I prayed he would, I knew it wouldn’t happen. He was smarter than we’d all believed — as he should’ve been. It’d be stupid to assume he was mediocre in every aspect, yet a Marked follower of Voldemort _and_ a spy in Dumbledore’s inner circle.

_He took my brother hostage._

~~ _WHAT?_ ~~

If fear was ice, fury was fire. It felt as if boiling heat replaced all my frozen blood, magic and emotion bubbling under my skin, and all I wanted to do was _kill this rat-bastard_ ~~ _threat to the pack kill him kill him kill him KILL HIM_ ~~ **_how dare he take one of mine-_**

“A single spell and I’ll kill him!”

I didn’t move my wand, but sparks were still spitting from its tip with anger.

~~ _pup killer murderer RIP HIS THROAT OUT ah pain PAIN Moony no don’t you can’t have them they’re mine I protect protect I_ ~~

Pettigrew’s wand was steady on Ron’s neck. Ron himself was pale with a furious, determined expression on his face, his eyes returning over and over again to Hermione’s form, half-risen on the grass and cuts bleeding lightly, and Harry, nearer to me and still half on his side, also bleeding, looking stiff and pained but not saying a word. The people who were _mine_ were bleeding all over the place and it had me practically bristling because _that wasn’t allowed._

( _He took_ ** _my brother_** _hostage.)_

I’m sure I had a glare worthy of Voldemort, directed at Pettigrew. He shook where he stood, but to my disgust, he didn’t waver. That Gryffindor recklessness and bravery was finally being channeled, I suppose.

“I… I was Marked for a reason, L-L-Lys…” said Pettigrew softly, “If you- If you cast a single spell…”

The heat in my blood peaked, and I swore the world flashed red with how badly I wanted to spit the Darkest, vilest curses I’d Seen and studied at the pathetic excuse of a man with my brother’s life in his hands.

_BROTHER-KILLER! MURDERER! MONSTER! — slash across his throat, a ravaged shoulder, muscles and blood exposed to cool air, sightless blue eyes. “BILL! BILL, NO!”_ — “Mon amour, mon amour, ne me quitte pas!” _— sobbing into their robes, fingers like claws in cloth, shoulders and chest heaving to catch her breath. The coffin was lowered — “Was that a joke, Perce?”_

_Stop._

“I should have killed you years ago,” I hissed, “I should have snapped your neck myself.”

“Should have been a Ravenclaw, girl,” Pettigrew wheezed, “Always so annoyed when… when someone tricks you- or- or when you don’t know something… Who would have thought that Scabbers the rat… your f-favorite brother’s pet…I don’t know- I don’t know how S-Sirius convinced you… why you believed him o-over _twelve years_ of me… of… b-b-but a-all the better… for me.”

Good. At least the Memory Ward was strong. If I blocked off his access to all memories surrounding knowledge of my Seer abilities, then it stood to reason that he’d never known that I understood exactly what he was all these years. His mind was frazzled not only because I stomped around it carelessly and took bits and pieces away, but because it was desperately trying to fill in gaps that he wasn’t even aware were there. That was the beauty of the ritual, the genius of Helvynya Prevett; Pettigrew would never know he’d forgotten a thing.

“You have your hostage, then, rat,” I snarled, slowly lowering my wand, “What do you want?”

His eyes shone. “All I want is twenty-”

My glower darkened.

“ _Ten,”_ Pettigrew amended quickly — as he should, the little _pest —_ “All I want is _ten seconds._ Y-Your brother… his life for ten seconds. I-I… I _know you_ , Lys… You’ll take it… You’ve always been ever so protective of your family… I was part of that, you know… I know… I know- Ten seconds of doing nothing, and then… and then… and that’s all, ten seconds, Lys. You’d give your life for… for your brothers. I-I-I’ve always wondered why… I’ve always… Y-You can give ten seconds to family, can’t you?”

“The day I call _you_ family,” I spat, “is the day I take a knife and slit my own throat.”

“You called my dad family, too,” Harry said darkly, slowly rising to his feet with torn-up hands and an expression contorted in anger, “And you turned him and my mum in to Voldemort, and you’d do it to Lys and Ron in a heartbeat.”

Pettigrew had the eternal appearance of someone trapped; the way his eyes and head swiveled back and forth, his stuttering words, the glassy expression on his face… our venomous words made it all the worse.  ~~ _good_ ~~ “Y-You’d understand if you’d lived through the war… You don’t know… Y-You have no idea h-h-how horrible it was… people died every day, friends and family and- and _everyone._ Y-You grew up in peacetime… You don’t know what it’s _like.”_

I wondered what he would have said, if he still remembered the fact that I lived the war in my nightmares almost every day? How would he have justified his shameless self-interest and cowardice to the girl who Saw how they butchered her uncles,  ~~ _Fabian and Gideon our friends no no no Molly don’t look Arthur don’t let her look_ ~~ their faces so similar to her older twin brothers? Who watched them tear children from their cribs and murder them for the crime of having Muggle blood? What could he have possibly said to appeal to us?

How _dare_ he try to appeal to us now.

How _dare_ he look at the effects his traitorous actions cause and try to convince us he wasn’t to blame, he wasn’t responsible.  ~~ _brother-killer murderer traitor traitor TRAITOR_ ~~

“You’re a coward,” my brother said harshly, “The worst kind of coward.”

I winced as Ron did when Hermione’s wand was jabbed into the back of his neck. 

“The coward survives… I survived… Not James, not Mary, not Dorcas, not Fabian and Gideon, not any of them… _ME._ I survived, and they _didn’t_.” His eyes were unfocused. “No one thought I would… They all thought I’d die the first mission, that raid… but I threw myself at the Dark Lord and _survived._ ” His head twitched, eyes meeting mine. “Ten seconds, Lys. Ten seconds of looking… looking the other way, and- and- and that’s all.”

He only had enough magic and strength for one spell. A torture spell or maybe even an _Avada Kedavra_ , or his Animagus transformation. Or perhaps he’d have a little more energy with a transformation, since it was so instinctual for him to be in that form? Whatever the case, we had to choose between the possibility of Ron’s fatal injury and the man’s escape into his faster rat form.

The choice was obvious.

“Drop the wand and you’ll have your ten seconds.” I replied, words stilted by the clenching of my jaw. 

“Girl-” Hermione started at how Pettigrew turned to her. “You’ll count. Slow.”

Hermione’s face flashed with defiance, only to melt into alarmed fear when Pettigrew dug the wand deeper into Ron’s neck, enough that Ron swayed with the force. She kept her eyes on them and nodded shortly.

“Ten.” Pettigrew began.

“Nine-”

Harry twitched when Pettigrew dropped Hermione’s wand carelessly and spun on his heel, towards the Forest, his body shrinking as he did. It only took one second for him to transform, and he was mid stride by the time his rat form took over; a squeak and a soft _thump_ meant his landing in the grass. If he escaped into the Forbidden Forest, that was it. Once we lost sight of him, it was over. Everything I’d done tonight would’ve been wasted.

“Eight-”

(Sirius’ hopeful face, asking me to describe Harry, flashed through my mind.)

( _Partners, you and me._ )

Ten seconds is more than enough for a man to transform. Ten seconds is enough for a rat to be lost in the dark. Ten seconds is all it takes to destroy everything I’ve worked for, these long months. Years, if we want to get technical. Years of me twitching at the putrid colors twisted around my brothers’, my sister’s, my parents’, the silent threat I had to pretend wasn’t there. Years of Sirius screaming in his cell or curled in the corner as a dog, hiding from those soul-sucking _abominations_.

“Seven-”

Years of suffering, made halfway useless for _ten seconds._

(The choice was obvious.)

“Six-”

I darted forward with a snarl.

“ _Accio!”_

The rat squealed when he started flying backwards, though the spell failed when he transformed back into a human, to throw off the magic. The force was enough to make him stagger backwards, a backwards glance of wide, betrayed eyes and a terrified whimper at the sight of me stepping towards him.

“You said ten-”

“I’m a Slytherin. I lie.” I sneered.  ~~ _break his bones and he won’t shift_ ~~ “ _Incommoruptorus.”_

A high, screeching shriek cut through the air. Pettigrew hurled himself to the ground, clutching at the forearm I’m shattered into at least seven pieces.  ~~ _that’s how you cast that one proper_ ~~ The breaks would be jagged and uneven; his rolling around on the ground might actually cause some internal bleeding, not that I cared if he ruined his arm — as long as it kept him from transforming into a rat, I didn’t care. The bastard took one of mine, hurt the other two, and cast some nightmare spell on my Head of House; and this was just tonight’s offenses.

Harry was glaring at Pettigrew, coming up and standing shoulder-to-shoulder with me.

“He won’t transform like that.” I explained curtly, ignoring the man’s whimpers.

Harry nodded tightly. “Doesn’t sit right with me, but… thank you, Lys.”

I knew there was slight disapproval hiding behind everyone else’s relief, but I wasn’t going to show weakness to someone like _Pettigrew,_ if he could even pay attention past his own pain. I smirked instead. “Someone had to do it. _Accio Hermione’s wand._ Here, Harry, get that to her. I’ll take _care_ of Pettigrew.”

“We’ll get Snape and Ron and head for the castle, Madam Pomfrey can probably fix the both of them-”

~~ _LYS_ ~~

My teeth were sinking into flesh and fur and my mouth was flooded with a hot copper taste, I was out of breath, it was dark and there was the sting of dirt in my eye, splinters in my back and gouging into the claw wounds-

~~ _LYS HE’S IN THE TUNNEL_ ~~

A howl erupted, echoing from the base of the creaking Willow.

 

**…**

 

_“B-But… But I’m…” — blue eyes twinkling behind glasses, calm face, gentle words, “Yes, my boy?” A whisper, shameful, eyes a soft gold with stress… “I’m a werewolf.”_ ~~ Remus Remus my friend ~~

_Arianna ran through the grass and gathered flowers in her hands and never approached the hedge, with him watching reluctantly and his little brother smiling and jumping down to join her — laughed a little. “And what does that matter, my boy? Werewolf or not, a young wizard needs his education.”_ ~~ Lys wake up you have ~~ _— golden eyes darkened into brown again, wide and hopeful, a small smile. “I can… I can go? I can go to Hogwarts?” — “I want to go to Hogwarts, too! When I’m older,” she said, smiling and letting Abe comb her hair. He glanced at his brother and exchanged a sad, fleeting look-_

_Stop._

_Twisted and curving, roots and rock shifted to make the tunnel. He stumbled nervously, following the Headmaster who whistled cheerfully despite — “And I can’t get out, right? I won’t be able to get out?”_

_“Nonsense. Of course you’ll be able to, my boy — what if something happened to this house? But the tunnel is packed and uneven, so if you’ve managed to destroy the door_ and _were desperate enough to get out, it would be rather painful for all the roots and dirt you’ve have to barrel through!”_

_Stop._

_Snape sat stiffly across from the Auror, who was sweating — high ceilings, stone room, magical wards everywhere that he could_ feel. _“Palvolic. An Auror, I see.” “Y-Yes Professor…” “Hmph. Get on with it, then.” — A rat in the palm of his hand, sniffing at his fingers. Remus laughed — James and Sirius and Peter beamed at him, smudged with dirt and robes rumpled. “We came to spend the full moon with you!”_ ~~ I remember this I remember this I ~~ _— “Kinda cute like this, aren’t you, Peter?” An enraged squeak and then a boy popped out from the rat and rammed into Remus’ nose, bruising his forehead. “I AM NOT CUTE!” — scattered laughter around their room, beds messy and sheets hung up on the posts._

_Stop._

_“He will return by the full moon. The Dark Lord lies alone and friendless, abandoned by his followers. His servant has been chained these long years. The full moon, the wolf’s moon… the servant will break free and set out to rejoin his master. The Dark Lord will rise again with his servant's aid, greater and more terrible than ever he was. The wolf’s moon calls… Fate intervenes… the servant... will set out... to rejoin... his master…”_

~~ Is that the prophecy? Lys, no, shit, don’t ~~

_Stop._

_James frowned, squinting at the locked door. “What if someone sets the Shack on fire or something? Would you be trapped here, Moony?” — Potter, in stag-form, curled up in their pillow fort and skipping class. Lily flung open the door, enraged that Flitwick took points for Potter not showing up_ again _and gasped as the buck squealed in surprise and turned into a teenager._ ~~ They were friends at this point barely they started dating two weeks after ~~ _— a rat scurrying into the forest, lots in the grass, a snarled spell, flying out into the air backwards and kicking and flailing._

_“Hm? No… The tunnel is adjusted to my size. If my wolf needed it enough, he’d be able to squeeze through, dig out the parts that he couldn’t fit in, all that.”_

_Sirius grinned. “That means we can sneak you out, right?”_ ~~ I miss these days I wish I wish I ~~ _— “WHAT THE BLOODY HELL, POTTER?” “Shhhh, quiet down, Lily!” — increased dementor presence, Fudge motioning for more more more, they had to stop Sirius Black._

_Stop._

_Moonlight on the grass, a sea of silver strands, the werewolf’s fangs dripping with blood and saliva — The girl screamed, blood like black ink in the night, her silver-and-green tie dyed red. A howl buried her shrieking — “I WILL NOT QUIET DOWN, YOU’RE AN ILLEGAL ANIMAGUS!” The redheaded girl threw anything she could get her hands on at the boy, trying to placate her — authorize the Kiss if that’ll make the flying buggers go faster, they couldn’t let the Boy-Who-Lived die — “…You hired that new assistant, didn’t you?” “Yes, sir.” “Get on it, then. We can’t have the populace questioning Ministry authority. Buy back trust. Get on it, Bones.” “Of course, sir.” — lying in the Hospital Wing, breathing deep, red hair clashing with white bandages and white sheets and white everything. The sun set and the moon rose as she slept,_ ~~ no no no this isn’t what I wanted for you ~~ _and she twitched at the feel of moonlight on her trembling skin…_

_Stop._

I slid into my own body (weird… that wasn’t supposed to feel like that) and flinched at the force of my own magic rebelling against me, eyes trained on the tunnel underneath the willow’s roots that echoed with snarls and the sound of wood shattering and pained whines and the hiss of silver on wolf skin. When had… When had the werewolf gotten so close?

There were hands tugging at my arms, a hand gently patting at my face. Whispered, urgent words… My head was throbbing and my chest hurt, too. Something warm and wet was running down my nose, salt and copper in my mouth. I ached and I was still half-Seeing Lily Evans chase James Potter around his dorm room, screaming at him, and a girl in a hospital bed with half my face because the other was bandaged up…

“Lys, Lys, what’s wrong?” went the whisper.

Something was wrong… Something wasn’t right… Sirius was in my head before, where was he? He was telling me about my visions, he was watching, that _wasn’t allowed_ but he was there… James Potter was laughing at her outrage, but… No, now he looked worried. There were cuts on his face and he was smaller and paler and… James didn’t have green eyes, what…?

“Lys, we have to go, Hermione’s trying to get Snape up again and Ron’s got Pettigrew, but we’ve got to go-”

Harry?

“LYSSIE, MOVE!”

The fog in my mind lifted just an inch. Where was Sirius in my head? He wasn’t supposed to be able to access my visions, we’d tested it… No, _no,_ think straight, dammit, Lyssie — the tunnel. The tunnel wasn’t quite wide enough for three people all across, sometimes, but that could easily be fixed if the werewolf was desperate enough. It was supposed to save Lupin’s life, just in case. Now it was going to take mine.

There were golden eyes in the dark.

“ _Disuplapsa!”_

I felt myself jerk to the side and ram into Harry, sending both of us toppling into the grass again, just in time for the barest brush of _something_ speeding past me from the direction of the tunnel. Dirt and grass had exploded along with it, a howl and a snarl reverberating through Sirius’  ~~_my_ ~~ chest. I landed hard on Harry, who gave a pained grunt as I knocked the breath out of him, and quickly rolled over onto my knees, twisting around to see the hulking, monstrous figure of Lupin  ~~ _Moony_ ~~ clawing into the ground and turning clumsily, chest heaving and saliva shining white in the moonlight, dripping from his open jaw.

The pain of landing jarred me out of confusion just a little more more, but not quite entirely. My shoulder was aching and the images of James and Lily Potter and myself in a Hospital Wing bed and dementors flooding the sky snapping, shattering, turning into terror at the sight of a werewolf finally freed after years of imprisonment… those images were fading as the pain radiated in my shoulder, pulsing with my heart.

~~ _Lys I’m sorry our minds got tangled they’ve never gotten that bad but you have to go you have to go I’ll hold him off but you have to GO!_ ~~

Sirius, the bear-dog he was, backed up against us, protecting Harry and I by placing himself in front of him, his own fangs bared and deep growls warning Lupin away.  ~~ _they’re mine Moony you can’t have them you can’t have them stay BACK_ ~~ To the side and in the background, Hermione was having little luck with an impassive, catatonic-looking Snape but was dragging him away while Ron limped after with with Pettigrew  ~~_rat traitor pup-threat_ ~~ in tow, all of them slowing backing away from the wolf’s flank.  ~~ _good Snape protect pups protect rat keep alive_ ~~ Even Pettigrew went quiet at the entrance of Lupin; he’d be very hard-pressed to transform into a rat now, with broken bones, and he’d know that. There were tiny whimpers coming from him, which I picked up on through Sirius’ ears, but they were muffled and Hermione was quietly casting Sound-Muffling Charms and Scent-Dampening Spells  ~~ _they’re fading from me can’t see them it’s working_ ~~ and all sorts of things to keep the four of them out of the wolf’s hunt.

Harry and I were both perfectly still, not wanting to give Lupin a reason to strike. He was staring Sirius down, both of them snarling low in their throats, chests low to the ground and hind legs ready to propel them forward for a bite or a tear.  ~~ _sizing up he wants to hunt I couldn’t stop him I tried he just wants human he just smells you Lys sorry I’m sorry_ ~~

_It’s okay, Sirius. I know you tried. This is Fate, remember?_

~~ _no no no I promised myself GET AWAY I said I’d help I promised you I’d help we’re partners_ ~~

My hand tightened on my wand. A sense of helplessness and frustration and anger and aggression and desperation bubbled in my stomach, rising up to my chest and filling my lungs; not all of it was Sirius’, by how dampened the empathic pain was. I could feel cuts all over my body but they were dull. Harry’s breathing quickened when the werewolf make a false lunge and Sirius met him, snarling at the attempt, standing his ground and forcing the temporary standstill again.

_You never promised that I’d avoid the bite. You accepted it._

~~ _well I don’t accept it now BACK OFF MOONY I’m so close if only he’d remember BACK OFF I can help you Lys I can help I promised myself if I had the chance to save you I’d take it this is me taking it I can take it_ ~~

_Sometimes you can’t keep promises you make. Sometimes promises are stupid._

~~ _never_ ~~

The moment Sirius charged forward, howling, I grabbed Harry and tugged him to his feet, momentum driving us away from the flurry of claw and snarl and fang. Sirius clamped his jaw down into Lupin’s shoulder, thrashing his head and pulling Lupin down, attempting to get him belly-up and in the surrender position  ~~ _stop this Moony stop stop don’t touch my pups_ ~~ ; Lupin howled, loud enough that Harry and I had to brace ourselves and scrunch our eyes shut at the noise. When we looked back at the fight, Lupin had a clawed hand splayed over Sirius’ ribcage, shoving down with all his weight, which Sirius yelped at and kicked his way out of, back on his paws, charging forward again and ducking a swipe to nip at Lupin’s flank and turn him around.

My hand had somehow found Harry’s, which I only realized when my fingers tightened and his reciprocated. I blinked, checking on my core and noting I had enough to at least perform a Notice-Me-Not and hopefully allow the two of us to edge away…

But as soon as I began to channel magic, Lupin’s golden-eyed gaze swiveled to me.

~~ _MOONY PLEASE_ ~~

There was a flash of black fur and white teeth, and then the werewolf was right in front of me, rearing on his hind legs with an arm swinging up to stun me-

My arm wrenched-

~~ _pain pain pain no LYS LYS NO_ ~~

Hermione shrieked and Ron was bellowing, someone else was screaming, too, the stench of an animal up my nose, something warm all over my neck and face. My breath left me as I tumbled backwards, landed on something odd, not grass, and then my face was on fire.

My face-

I was screaming. That was me, the someone else. That someone else was me, screaming.

The werewolf was blasted away from me, claws dripping with blood, my blood, _my face-_ It was like fire, all across the left side of my face, warm something spreading everywhere, pouring into my mouth, my eyes. Something changed, I was on grass again suddenly, and I wanted to curl on my side and claw at my face and _make it stop_ but it was burning and throbbing and my magic was throbbing against my chest, trying to burst out.

~~ _no no not a bite but close no Lys Harry Moony why why why hunting my pups hunting Lys fresh blood more fresh blood NO BACK OFF dammit fresh human blood I promised I promised I_ ~~

“Lys, you have to stay still- Lys, let me- I have to put pressure on it, Lys, stop fighting me!”

Harry. That was Harry’s voice. I’d never heard him that worried before, actually. My face was burning and throbbing and I tasted blood but one of my hands flew down to my side and my fingers gripped dirt and grass and _tore_. Something slippery was trying to find purchase on my face — Harry’s hands? — and it _hurt so much more_ with pressure but I sucked in a breath and felt my teeth creaking against each other.

~~ _I said that I’d do it Lys Merlin there’s so much blood there’s so much I can smell and and so can he Moony can smell the blood he’s fighting hard he’s in a blood frenzy I can’t reach him he wants a successful hunt he wants_ ~~

_“PROTEGO! PROTEGO!”_

“Harry, is her neck okay? Harry, her neck, oh Merlin-”

“Missed it by centimeters, but her cheek- her jaw- he almost got her eye-”

~~ _oh_ ~~

“ _Odoxtoreus Abscondamor!”_

“Keep the pressure, Harry- There are no spells that can countermand a werewolf’s mark-”

“Oh god, there’s so much blood…”

A whimper. “S-Stronger scent-blockers! H-Hurry up! Sh-She’s bleeding too much… we’ll be noticed…”

“Shut up, Pettigrew.”

“ _Odoxtoreus Abscondamor!”_

“Lyssie, Lyssie, Lyssie, no no no, Lys, no-”

~~ _he wants to hunt a human and you’ve been running Lys I know Lyssie I can I promise Lys_ ~~

Even through the haze of pain, the hands all on my face and making the pain flare in my wounds, the spells being woven around me to hide me, I knew what Sirius was planning the moment it flashed through his head. My eyes, which had been shut tight in pain, flew open. The only reason I didn’t bolt up were hands on my shoulders, holding me down.

_Sirius don’t you FUCKING dare._

~~ _I promise_ ~~

_To be a Clairvoyant is to suffer don’t you dare don’t you dare DON’T!_

~~ _you’ve suffered enough Lyssie_ ~~

My eyes roamed, one of them blinded by something I assumed was blood, and I locked onto Harry’s, determined and frightened behind his slipping glasses. “Harry, stop him-” I choked out, “Harry, he’s going to- he’s-”

“Sirius is fighting Lupin, don’t worry-” Harry said.

I wanted to shake my head, but instead I sunk into the mental link, feeling the burn on my face and my magic fade as I did, but stepping into new wounds. New blood, more throbbing, hurts all over my back and my shoulders, bruises, the taste of dirt and blood on my tongue, the scent of a confused werewolf and the fading smell of pups…

~~ _growling fighting blood-smell weak but Lys I know she’s bleeding! Moony licking his claws wants more hungry can’t let that happen sorry Lys I’m sorry… shift shift shift paws to hands and no more blood smell but I know Moony can smell her I know it Lys Harry this is for you_ ~~

I felt the moment Sirius shifted to his human form, staggering before the confused werewolf, half blood-frenzied. He took a breath that I felt in my lungs, that I breathed with him, and felt a jolt of _fearpanicprotectnonono_ go through him when the werewolf stood on his hindlegs, sniffing at the air, golden eyes going brighter at the scent of my blood.  ~~ _Lyssie’s blood no_ ~~ The werewolf barely turned towards where Sirius knew I was, bleeding on the ground with the trio and Snape huddled around my protectively, when Sirius steeled his heart.

~~ _you’re hurting already Lys go_ ~~

_Partners,_ I replied, pain flooding my head, my entire body covered in claw marks and slashes.

~~ _you shouldn’t have to feel_ ~~

_Partners,_ I insisted stubbornly, _You and me._

“What-?”

“What the bloody hell is he doing?”

Sirius  ~~_we_ ~~ smiled. Lupin lumbered towards the tree, scenting me, and Sirius looked at his left arm and brought his teeth to his skin and bit down and _ripped._

~~ _won’t let you take Lys or Harry or the others won’t let you take my pups their friends they’re MINE_ ~~

_You’re an idiot, Sirius Black. We did all this so you could live with Harry._

_wrongwrongwrongforyouforyoupupsforyourgenerationforyouyouyounotme_ was the warmth in my chest, underneath the hurt and the bubbling, angry magic and the lungs that were only breathing because of a potion.

_~~want someone to hunt Moony? want fresh human blood? come get it~~ ,_ he screamed, in and out of the link.

( _You shouldn’t have to feel me die,_ is what Sirius was going to say.)

 

**…**

 

“SIRIUS!”

~~ _pain pain PAIN hurts blood salt smell everywhere warm Moony turned towards me_ ~~

“OH MY GOD-”

Sirius grinned triumphantly when Lupin whipped around and dove forward, claws raking down Sirius’ arms to pin him down. I smelled the werewolf’s breath, I felt the saliva drop down on my cheek, and then I felt those enormous fangs sink into my shoulder and upper arm and back.  ~~ _gentle he’s testing he’s just biting for now_ ~~ Sirius’ eyes widened as the pain shot through, as his bones crunched under fang, and we both shrieked when we felt the werewolf magic latch onto his own  _~~our own~~._ There was a thrashing sensation in  ~~_our_ ~~ his chest, like his magic was screaming, and I was sure if I flicked my Mage Sight on that _it would be._

“SIRIUS! SIRIUS!”

“DAMMIT!”

~~ _busy with me busy eating Lys tell them all to run- PAIN PAIN PAIN_ ~~

“Harry- How- We have to help, we have to-”

“T-T-Tie that ti-tightly, Harry… sh-she’ll bleed out if you don’t…”

My bones were crunching, my collarbone and shoulder blade cracking between fang. Claws were digging into me, blood was spurting everywhere, the bite was _burning_ like acid spreading through my veins, tearing me into pieces-

“Shut _up_ , Pettigrew! How can you even- You bloody _traitor_ , Sirius was just-”

“S-Sirius m-m-made his choice, and… and you- you have to focus on the one you _c-can_ help, not… not him. Th-That’s- That’s how you survive, Harry… H-Hurry up! Th-The faster Lys is better, t-the fast we can get out of here… Girl, h-how are you on… on… on sp-spontaneous casting?”

“Oh my god… Oh my god…”

Magic was tearing through me. My strings were being infected, my clouds of ink darkening and convulsing and turning into something different-

~~ _Lys please_ ~~

“-counterspell to the one… the nightmare… the spell I put on him.”

“Wh-Why are you…?”

“B-Because I… I don’t want to die… I _survive…_ and we need Snape for that. S-So hurry up!”

I snapped back into my head, leaving Sirius’ agony. Something was being wound around my head, missing my mouth and nose, being tied tightly. It was quick and I started bleeding again and someone was crying, but I whimpered when my wound was jostled. I felt Sirius as a ball of bright, convulsing agony in the back of my head, trying to escape his pain through my eyes, the bite of the werewolf and the playful scrapes and clawing afterwards muted by my mediocre pain.

Suddenly my world shifted and I bit back a scream as my wound, through the bandages, was pressed up against something. Someone was carrying me; Snape, maybe? There was some conversation about a counterspell… Maybe he was back? I didn’t know how fast or slow time was passing… This was the second time Snape would be carrying me… He must’ve been really annoyed…

“Weasley, can you run?”

“Yes.”

“What are you- Where-? Ron! We have to-”

_He’s going to run for it,_ I thought, my thoughts going hazy. Blood loss, probably. 

~~ _good thank Merlin tearing me tearing PAIN PAIN pain my muscles pain pain pain PAIN PAIN blood everywhere Moony’s licking at the blood slowly maybe he recognizes me? thank goodness Snape’s up he’ll get you out you need to go Lys_ ~~

“WE CAN’T JUST LEAVE HIM-!”

“SILENCE, POTTER! Black didn’t savage his arm for nothing, _come along now.”_

_You weren’t supposed to have paid the price for me._

“Harry, we have to go-”

“HE’S NOT DEAD!”

~~ _if I had to die so you and Harry and your friends could live so Pettigrew was brought to justice so I could make things up to Snape so my pups were okay then that’s fine with me Lys this is okay this is okay you’ll be okay tell Harry I love him always loved him since he was born my pup you'll be okay both of you all of you_ ~~

“BECAUSE LUPIN’S PLAYING WITH HIS FOOD! As soon as he gets bored, Black will be _very much dead.”_

“I’M NOT LEAVING HIM-”

A howl.

I cracked my eyes open, as much as my body protested the movement and my face throbbed for it. The high-pitched, breathy sound rang through the sudden silence again. It didn’t sound… It sounded odd. It wasn’t right.

“Is that another bloody werewolf?” whispered someone. My brother, maybe.

“It doesn’t soun-”

It sounded again, and everyone held their breaths as it did.

~~ _not a werewolf pain PAIN PAIN but Moony curious walking away thank Merlin oh fuck fuck pain PAIN PAIN again it’s sounding again Moony is looking Forbidden Forest possible packmate werewolf he’s going going going PAIN pain pain_ ~~

“He’s leaving…?”

“Lupin’s not in blood frenzy anymore, he successfully hunted, so now he wants a pack and that might be a werewolf, so he- HARRY!”

“SIRIUS!”

The wrong-sounding howl rung out again, and I couldn’t crack open my eyes even if I wanted to. Sirius’ link was going crazy and my magic was drained, my body heavy, my face like fire. I just wanted to sleep… I was comfortable, held like this — Dad used to do this all the time with me, I remembered. I hurt and I just wanted to…

The howl again.

Failure was bitter and my chest felt like it was caving in, for no other reason than the fact that I couldn't feel Sirius anymore. Was this the price I had to pay? What was the  _point_ of getting Pettigrew if Sirius died, two years too early? I changed Fate for nothing but clearing his name, and who the fuck cared about that if he was goddamn  _dead?_ Why did  _Sirius_ have to pay for my  _needless meddling?_ Why did I have to lose another one of mine? I couldn't even properly grieve for all the pain in my body, for my rapidly fading consciousness, for my hazy mind that couldn't comprehend that I had failed in almost  _every aspect_ and for what-

_Sirius, torn to shreds — werewolf eating, hunched over the figure of a friend — Harry and Hermione with tears in their eyes, hands on a golden necklace thrown over their heads in the dark Hospital Wing — Ron nodding to them, wincing. His leg was in a cast but he left the Dreamless Sleep on his bedside table._

_“Do what you have to do,” he said, eyes fierce and bright. There was a girl in the bed beside him, curtains thrown up all around her, he could only see — “I thought it was my dad who'd conjured my Patronus. I mean, when I saw myself across the lake ... I thought I was seeing him.”_

_“EXPECTO PATRONUM!” — hurried in the woods, breaths harsh, icy cold and terror creeping up his limbs and slowing him. The sky was black with cloaks, the moon blocked out — “Save Sirius. You heard my sister, right? In some other Fate line, because of some other choice, he’s not dead.” — a white stag dancing with a silvery dog._

_Stop._

_The axe swung down on the creature’s neck. It screamed and then went silent and the half-giant couldn’t stop crying. — “He lost the appeal…”hands clasped together, blood making their fingers slippery, backing away from the wolf sniffing in their direction. — sighed and rubbed at the dog’s ears comfortingly, leaning against his bulk, leading him to the Kitchens — “Hello, Sirius Black.” “Hello, Seer. I have a few questions about a rat.”_

_Hermione clutched at her chest, clenching her teeth, fingers shaking on her wand. “Hermione? Hermione! You’re using too much magic, I know magical exhaustion when I see it!” “I have to hide us, Ron; Lupin can’t hunt what he can’t sense…”_

_Stop._

_Sirius turned around and grinned when Harry walked into the room. — Sirius was strewn across the grass, a horror movie of a corpse, sightless eyes gazing at the stars with a smile on his bloody face. Someone screamed sobbing apologies in the background — she stilled as she was carried, expression going blank even as the wound kept bleeding through the bandages. She fidgeted, turning, catching her brother’s eye, grinning despite the pain, despite the grief, despite the void in her head where he was supposed to be. “I really hate Time Turners.”_

_Stop._

Wait... What? What on earth...?

_Lupin sat with his face in his hands and wept, threw his arm out to smash into all the knick-knacks on his desk. “I KILLED HIM! I KILLED HIM! THE TRUEST OF ALL OF US AND_ I **KILLED HIM!”**

_Stop._

_“Time Turners piss the fuck out of Prophesiers and Clairvoyants, you know. Fate and Destiny always change when wizards have access to the Sands of Time.” Ron explained seriously, looking between Harry and Hermione with dark circles under his bright eyes. “Do what you have to do.”_

_Stop._

_“But we can’t interfere too much, Ron- We might go insane if we interact with our past selves-!” “Bollocks to that, Hermione! If people really went crazy that easily, at the drop of a hat, my sister would’ve been put away a long time ago! I know you’re strong enough, mentally, to do it — you’re a genius, Hermione!” — a flush on her cheeks, looking away. Harry smiled grimly, but he was shaking and there was dried blood on his — “He’s going to live. Ron, you have to convince Hermione and Harry to… They can_ save him, _Ron, they can… In another… In another line of Fate, they already have…” — high ceilings, stone room, magical wards everywhere that he could_ feel. _“Palvolic. An Auror, I see.” — Sirius swung his arm around James and James swung his arm around Sirius and they faced the snowy sky and laughed._

_Stop._

A slow, painful (but not _pained_ ) smile spread on my face.

(I had forgotten about that disgusting cheat code Hermione carried around her neck.)

I fidgeted in the arms carrying me until I found Ron and Harry and Hermione. Ron was peering over Snape’s arm, looking like he wanted nothing more than to pluck me out of Snape’s arms and carry me himself. His face blurred as my own blood loss began to threaten unconsciousness, but I reached for him weakly, only managing to wiggle my fingers; Ron knew exactly what I wanted, though, and grabbed onto my hand awkwardly.

My wound pulled but I grinned broadly. “I really hate Time Turners.”

Ron looked confused, on top of everything else. “What?”

“He was supposed to have died but Harry and Hermione will save him. Tell them that, okay? I’m… I’m sorry about the hippogriff, though. But you all and Sirius matter more than it…” I babbled, knowing I was due for a damn fainting spell soon, “S-Sorry about all this, big brother. Watch out for… for the dementors, okay?”

“Lys!”

There was a huff from Snape, making my wound throb at the scratching of fabric on the bandages. “Potter, Granger! Is Pettigrew secured? Good. Potter, go check on Black, then — impatient and foolhardy, just like your father…” Snape muttered the last part.

Footsteps jarred the world, but the stars were still as I looked at them and my brother’s hand was stubbornly remaining in my reach, even though it slipped sometimes. So Harry was going to check on Sirius, who was so weakened and injured that I could barely feel the path to his mind. Somehow, they’d get to the Black Lake… Somehow, the future Harry and Hermione would see that, wouldn’t expect it because Sirius was dead in their timeline, and… God, it was hard to think with my face half-melting and my vision going fuzzy, but dammit all, Sirius was _alive_ and I was somehow Seeing into the version of time where he wasn’t and _no wonder_ Seers hated Time Turners if I was getting visions this strong despite my empty core and my body trying to pass out and conserve as much anaemic blood as it possibly could…

I should have passed out long ago. I was certain the only reason I wasn't was magic. My world thoughts were slowing, as if my mind was sleepy from the visions. Slowly... everything shrunk down into snapshots of images. My whirling mind was settling down. Adrenaline was fading. The stars were dim. It was freezing cold, except my hands, holding Ron’s. Snape was okay, carrying me and snarling — probably at the Gryffs. Pettigrew was secured. My brother and Hermione were here. Sirius was alive, if very hurt. Harry was going to perform a kick-ass Patronus. I wasn’t bitten.

_We did it, Sirius…_

There was no answer, but as I slipped into the dark, eyes closed and a heartbeat under my ear just like when I was a child and Dad would hold me… it was peaceful and there was a spark of laughter and the howl that echoed in the night was almost comforting to hear.


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY THIS IS LATE!
> 
> I moved into a new apartment and am getting ready for college and my brother's been staying with me since his dorm isn't open yet, and those're my excuses. This is one of many cool-down chapters — there's a lot I wanted to address, but I need a lot more time for that and I know you can tell — so I hope y'all enjoy! :)
> 
> Thank you to all who read, all who subscribe, all who kudos/bookmark/comment. :') You guys keep me going, y'know?

 

**…**

 

The sky was wrong.

You’d like to think that nighttime skies were always as clear as this sky looked, deep greens and teals and blues sprinkled with cloudy shades of orange and scattered with stars. It was like the sky itself was made of magic and I could see the colors in it, only they were so enormous and far away that it didn’t seem like it was moving. This was a sky for photographs and photo-editing and video games and all that Muggle stuff I hadn’t seen in years.

The sky was wrong. This was not real.

But I was calm for it. I shouldn’t have been, but whatever confusion or urgency was hazed over, and all I felt was fascination… and an unsettling peace.

“The sky didn’t used to look like that.”

The hand on my shoulder should’ve been warm, because it always was, but there was no sense of temperature. I should have been more bothered by it.

_Sirius?_

With all the darkness, it should’ve been impossible to see him so clearly. He was wearing robes I’d never seen before, loose and comfortable, hands in his pockets. His grin was easy, hair tied back, looking healthy and hale. Something niggled in the back of my mind about how relaxed he looked, that he somewhat wasn’t supposed to look this way right now, but I couldn’t grasp the thought.

He was facing the sky, looking at it in fascination.

“If this is what the sky used to look like a thousand or however many bloody years ago, I think I understand why my ancestors started taking on constellation names. What do you think?”

_Where… are we? Sirius…_

His eyes flickered down to me, filling with a blank sort of concern. “Oh… I can barely see you, Lyssie. You haven’t woken up yet, have you?” He chuckled, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck, smile turning a slight sheepish. “No wonder it’s still so dark here.”

_…?_

“Sorry. It’s… well… this place is one of my favorite clearings in the Forbidden Forest. It was an old, abandoned camping ground of the centaurs, I think — it’s a bit too close to where Sprout hides her orchards, so… yes… Well, I haven’t been able to come here for a long time.”

_Why?_

“Ah… When I came after Pettigrew and Harry, well… let’s just say that it’s not abandoned anymore, and leave it at that. I… missed this place.” Sirius gazed at the black mass of trees, thick enough that they looked flat to my eyes, and settled behind me.

I turned, frowning at how his nostalgia seemed to stutter, and then froze.

I should’ve been much more alarmed, much more curious, but all I felt was a vague sort of sleepiness and tiredness. Two golden eyes flickered in the dark, coming closer. Close enough that I could see the outline of an enormous wolf, dark enough to blend into the shapeless, endless tree line. It growled and I should’ve activated my fight-or-flight response but I only blinked.

_That’s a werewolf._

Some of my nervousness must’ve bled through whatever odd, hazy magic was at work here, because Sirius chuckled and smiled at me reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Lys. He won’t come any closer. The hairy git wouldn’t dare.”

An odd, childish urge to duck behind Sirius sprung up… and another niggle of my mind sounded when I did just that, though Sirius just laughed. What was I missing here? Why was my mind all foggy but this place was so clear, and where was I, and why didn’t I care? What on earth was making it so my emotions were suppressed, why was Sirius here and not in the Shack, and… and…

“Ouch. You’re getting really worked up, huh?”

_You think?_

Sirius gave a smile a bit more like a grimace. “Sorry. It’s… It’s hard to think here, and I reckon it’s half that you still haven’t woken up and another half that furry bastard lurking in the dark there.” He nodded at the wolf, who rumbled but didn’t even snarl.

_This isn’t real, is it?_

A golden moon rose behind the wolf. Its light didn’t reach the woods, the shadows black as ever. But the grass around us, up to my knees, was flooded with light and the brook running nearby was visible, grey pebbles shining. The clearing and sky were beautiful and surreal and I wanted to get the fuck out of here. Or, rather… I should have. I should have wanted to get the fuck out of here.

(There was a lot of ‘should haves’ here, for some reason, and I couldn’t quite piece together _why_ and _how_ and everything else.)

“What’s the last thing you remember, Lyssie?”

_…I’m not sure. There’s no start. There’s just this, and memories._

“Like a dream, right? Like we’re sharing the same dream.”

_Like we’re sharing the same mind._

“Yes.”

My eyes widened. The forest’s flat blackness sharpened into true woods, shapes of trees, the golden eyes set in the huge skull of a hulking werewolf. Too lanky and oddly-shaped to be a wolf, too big, but not human by half. Silent, though. Watching. I turned to Sirius and finally felt a sharp pang of horror as his healthy appearance flickered, the shadow of a skeletally-thin, profusely-bleeding, raggedly-dressed man overlapping with the way I first saw him in this place. There was a burning sensation on my face, the left side of my face, and I felt coppery warmth sliding down into my mouth.

The haze was lifted, enough that I could _think._ A thousand different questions passed through my head. What little of this _was_ my head, I suppose. There was only one I singled out, voiced out as much as I could.

_Are you… Did you live?_

Sirius smiled warmly, blood in his teeth but eyes warm. He looked much more aware, too, even as his image flickered. “We all did. Or so the Aurors tell me — little hard to be interrogated when the moon’s up and my body is too weak to transform but too accustomed to a canine form not to try.”

_…I’m sorry._

He smiled. His hand moved from my shoulder to square on the top of my head, heavy and warm. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

_So they always tell me. I’m always sorry anyhow._

“…Which I think we’ll have to wait for the waking world to address, Lyssie.”

_But for now we’re in your head, aren’t we?_

Sirius turned back to the sky, gaze on the too-large moon. The wolf followed suit, staggering to its hind legs and facing the sky. A stream of crimson comets distantly winked in and out of sight, and I felt a pull on my magical core when the comets increased, drowning out the dark sky with light. It was like fireworks, silent but for the wind and the brook and Sirius beginning to laugh.

“I haven’t been able to access my mindscape in years,” Sirius said softly, “Not since the… the dementors. But here I am, the sky all different, a brook that doesn’t belong, and every time I think I might start thinking about… about bad things, the sky turns red as Weasley hair.” He glanced at me, grinning. “Must be a sign, eh?”

I wanted to laugh. So that’s what that warm, pleading tug on my heart was.

_Red sky isn’t usually a good omen._

“I said something like that to James, once. Know what he told me?”

_Something stupid._

“Of course. It _is_ James,” Sirius snickered. But his eyes softened and the sky had darkened — just a little, because it was still a brilliant cosmos, just no longer lit up like New Years eve. “He said the sappiest thing… ‘Red can only be the omen of lovely things coming my way.’”

_Sounds like something he was saying while Lily was entering the room._

“Oh, it was. It definitely was.” Sirius looked up at the woods, and I followed his eyes.

A white, glowing stag was standing among the trees, further back than the wolf was — the wolf was right on the edge, one leap would have the thing on the two of us, but it was calm and still — and featureless. It grazed in the dark, and then raised its crowned head when a matching doe of the same silvery light joined it. They stood together, facing the both of us and the wolf behind us silently.

There was a click. A piece of understanding, of _sense_ , which I’d been missing so much as I stood in this mindscape world, cobbled together from my and Sirius’ memories. Everything should have been more familiar, more understandable, because I was in my mind and it should’ve made more sense to me than anything; but this place was more Sirius than me, for whatever reason. The click was recognizing the bits that were mine.

_Happy thoughts._

“Fireflies in the dark. Red skies chase away the bad.”

_The darkness is mine, because I’m sleeping, and so is the brook. That’s where Luna and I used to play in all the time, I’m sure of it… And the forest, the clearing… the wolf and the moon are yours._

A sharp look at the eerily silent creature, golden eyes still trained on us patiently. “I felt him tear my Animagus apart. Furry bastard.”

_Staking a claim._

“As werewolves often do.” Sirius agreed.

_…The forest is brighter. I can see trees._

They were deep blue and black, but I could _see_ them. No longer just massive outlines, but twisted, tall woods and underbrush. They seemed to go on forever, empty but for the doe and the stag made of starlight and the werewolf waiting for us as the grass ended and carpet of leaves began. Foreboding as the Forbidden Forest, one would assume, but it was just… familiar and right, almost. A feeling I’m sure was Sirius’, not mine.

“You’re waking up,” said Sirius matter-of-factly.

_What happens next?_

“Oh, all sorts of things,” Sirius said lightly. “I get past the moons. Ministry inquiry. Medical treatment, yours and mine, especially. A trial. Seeing if this mind-sharing or dream-sharing business is permanent. I’m going to adopt you as my goddaughter. I’ve got to fix my house up and add that wolf chamber in the basement. And add a basement. Also got to figure out if I ought to threaten some Muggles who’ve got funny ideas on how to treat my godson. None of this in a particular order, mind you.”

I could see it now. We’d have to make up some sort of bullshit to make sure Lupin and Sirius came out of this in the best light possible. The Ministry would make that a pain is the arse to do, but we’d manage it; Alby would help us, and I’m quite sure that I could Slytherin something up. A trial, yes. And then Sirius would bundle Moony up and they’d go to Grimmauld Place and make it livable. Safe. I’d be invited over with Ron so we could see Harry and help them move in. 

Mum would probably come along and fatten us up, all the while clucking at Harry for poor eating habits. Maybe I’d bring Ginny, just so she could see how normal Harry was; she’d grow out of that crush soon enough, talking to Harry and seeing how sassy and stubborn the kid could be. Oh, and Fred and George would tag along to hang around the Marauders, werewolves or no. They wouldn’t care. Harry could even follow us back home and play on the pitch, fly around a bit.

There were fireflies all over the forest, now. Soft and sure, butter-yellow blinks in the dark; gentle, compared to the metallic gold of the moon and the wolf. Sirius was smiling softly at the sight. I think I was, too.

(Happy thoughts.)

_…That sounds like a very nice future._

He grinned, facing me and framed by fireflies. “It will be.” Sirius declared. “Now… time to wake up, kiddo.”

 

**…**

 

The high ceilings of the Hospital Wing were what greeted me. Slowly, though, swimming into focus. I knew from the scratches on the arched beams that I was in my usual bed. And I knew from Madam Pomfrey’s ridiculous obsession with the sterility of white that I was covered in the stuff, the cheap sheets to the pillows to the thin clothing that was definitely not my usual jeans and wooly sweaters and T-shirts.

Wait. There was something wonky about what I was seeing. Imbalanced. And there was something on my face.

“…I’m not half-blind, am I?”

Because even if all I saw was pale wood and white, I heard the muffled roar of Alby’s magic, the strings and brass and singing, which was only a little bit outdone by the _very_ muted song of Hogwarts. Grand and powerful and Light, though there were sweet notes of old sorrow and wavering ones of hesitation, choices burdening his shoulders. Seems I’d really have to get on my _The Magick of Man-Hunters_ rituals if my blinders were failing this oddly; something to do over the summer, I suppose, even if I should’ve taken advantage of Beltane.

You could barely see it, the way Alby carried his straight shoulders and wise, blue eyes and disgustingly garish robes with him. He was sitting in a — once again — Transfigured chair, plush and plum-colored, looking quite comfortable and commanding. There was that neutral-pleased smile on his face. My single eye roamed over his aged, stooped frame; he looked no different from the last time I’d personally spoken to him, face to face, which was… almost a year ago, I think?

(I asked Alby if he thought Tom had been telling the truth.)

( _I could not possess you, Lys,_ he said. _I did not want you to die so I could live,_ he said. _I wish you had been born in 1926.)_

Ah. No wonder I hadn’t spoken to Alby in such a long while. I tended to avoid… that sort of thing. Emotional confrontation sorts of things. Triggering myself sorts of things. That, and I suppose Alby was just very busy — fighting Fudge every inch of the way, on the dementors-guarding-Hogwarts bit, among other things — and so was I.

I missed him, sometimes.

“No, my dear, I am pleased to inform you that you will continue to retain perfect vision. The Healers who arrived from St. Mungo’s told Madam Pomfrey that you weren’t to remove the bandages, however, seeing as werewolf injuries — claws and bites alike — resist the healing process as much as they can. You were quite lucky.”

A relieved sigh left me. “And I wasn’t bitten, either.”

“Not at all. Only a scratch.”

“And Sirius lived. And Pettigrew…”

Alby smiled more brightly at that. “Oh, yes, Mr. Potter and his friends informed me of all that happened. Peter Pettigrew was immediately taken into Ministry custody, albeit much more roughly than Sirius Black once an on-site interrogation was performed, with myself as witness.”

Hm. Now that I was awake and speaking, it felt like I was stretching something that didn’t really prefer it, which was uncomfortable though not painful (yet). Aaaand there it was, the pain. Just a twinge, like bruises were being pressed in rhythm on my face. My left eye seemed to be spelled closed and covered in gauze, the fancy stuff — I knew by just running the tips of my fingers over it.

I blinked my right eye. Since, you know, it was my only eye right now.

I grinned past the pain. “How long’s it been?”

“The full moon has passed in it’s entirety, and you have missed many of your exams, but have woken just in time for the feast. No doubt what your parents were hoping for, when they consented to keeping you in Madam Pomfrey’s care, rather than St. Mungo’s.”

I sighed. My parents. My _family._ Another year, another dramatic hospitalization. I couldn’t keep doing this to them — I had no doubt they were worried. Probably _beyond_ worried. They deserved much better than dreading sending me off to Hogwarts with new scars. They deserved, at the very least, a true explanation. And an apology. All sorts of things. More than this guilt in my chest could give them.

“Okay.” I murmured, closing my eye. “Okay. Everyone’s safe. Pettigrew’s caught. It worked. Okay.”

“My dear Lys, if you wouldn’t mind terribly, perhaps you can answer some of my own questions?”

My eyes opened. I felt tired and sleepy and my face hurt, but there was no time for complaining. Not now.

“What do you know already? I’ll fill in the gaps.” I offered, smiling weakly.

Alby gave a fleeting smile.

(Gone were the days of finger painting in his office, laughing as Fawkes squawked indignantly at a flick of apple-green I’d never seen in anyone’s colors before, running through the fireplace and calling out ‘Until tomorrow!’s.)

(I wondered, sometimes, in the very back of my mind when I woke up from particularly bad nightmares or visions and Occluded using what Alby’s taught me, why being a grandfather and why being my superior clashed enough to create this much distance.)

“As reported to the Ministry,” he began, “Sirius Black attacked your brother, Miss Granger, and Mr. Potter with the aim of Peter Pettigrew in rat form; very minor injuries were accrued from that confrontation. Remus Lupin, realizing Harry Potter was late for his Patronus lesson and aware of Black’s Animagus form, decided to investigate and realized the truth of the matter.”

“It was a Wednesday night, though…”

Alby smiled. “Ah, but the Ministry doesn’t know that Mr. Potter’s Patronus lessons were on Thursdays, do they?”

I nodded. “Fair enough. Lupin won’t be… punished, will he? For not… for not coming up sooner about Sirius’ Animagus form.”

“I made sure the Ministry believed that _he_ wasn’t aware of the presence of a black dog in Mr. Potter’s life until then. They do know about that, of course, if only to lend more credence to the fact that Sirius Black had all opportunity to inflict harm on my students and chose not to.” Alby didn’t seem irritated that I interrupted, but I ducked my head as I realized how off-track we were. His voice was still mild and pleasant. “Now, to continue… Professor Snape was delivering the monthly Wolfsbane, of course, and grew alarmed when he could not find its drinker; so, of course, he went searching, leaving the potion behind in his haste.”

“And he happened upon Lupin and Sirius standing off against three students.” I added, remembering walking into that mess and being shot at for it.

Alby hummed. “Yes. Where Sirius Black and Remus Lupin spun tales so fanciful that it bordered on delusion, and Professor Snape made to attack and subdue. But he was distracted when _you_ , my dear, entered and proclaimed that the rat was, indeed, Peter Pettigrew. You’d known there was something wrong with him as he _was_ your family’s pet, but you dared not speak of it because, for one thing, he did yours no harm, and for another, he was constantly in reach of your family. It is widely known that Arthur and Molly Weasley are viciously protective of their children, especially in the wake of the Blood War, so the Ministry would believe that you have inherited that and would not risk your siblings or parents for anything.”

“Alright… A bit of a stretch, but I suppose that’s… well, the Ministry is probably busier with other things than a little girl keeping secrets for the sake of her family’s lives.”

The Headmaster chuckled. “Indeed. With one of his Slytherins behind Sirius Black, Professor Snape had no choice but to listen to the story again and consider it more thoroughly. Your brother sided with you, and the rat was revealed, and all seven — eight, with Pettigrew — made for the castle to contact the Ministry. In the heat of this excitement, the Wolfsbane was forgotten, and Remus Lupin transformed; he was nearest to you, and in his initial blood frenzy, he detected your blood — Pettigrew attacked you when he was revealed, is the Ministry’s belief — and attacked. The only reason you all escaped was Sirius Black’s transformation into his Animagus form to allow you all time to escape.”

I nodded again, thoughtfully. So all that was changed was the timing of everything.

“And Lupin bit him in the Shack?” I asked.

“No, no. As a blood frenzied werewolf, he managed to get out onto the grounds where Sirius sacrificed himself to save you all. Perhaps some touch of magic or love made it through to the wolf’s mind, because he fled to the forest soon after, and Sirius staggered up — despite his injuries — and made to get away from you all on the off-chance that he’d transform after the bite. Mr. Potter followed him and fought off an innumerable amount of dementors to keep his godfather safe while Professor Snape, Miss Granger, and your brother brought you and Pettigrew to the school where all of you were treated immediately.”

“Alright. And the Ministry… knows this version of the story?”

“It is the _only_ version of the story, to the Ministry.” Alby replied cheerfully.

I snorted. “Am I going to be testifying this story?”

Alby hummed his affirmation. “In the summer months, no doubt. Quite the conundrum for the Ministry.”

I had questions. Many questions. But only one mattered at the moment.

“And what’s the version the Ministry doesn’t know?”

Alby eyed me. “A much more speculative one. The truth, I fear, is hidden in your and Sirius Black’s mind. But from what I’ve been told, by Professor Snape and your two Gryffindor friends and one Gryffindor brother, I’m to believe that you found Sirius Black months previous, nursed him to health as much as possible — in every possible way — and proceeded to ignore my instructions regarding Helvynya Prevett, learning to perform and then _altering_ an intensively magical Legilimencic ritual to seal Pettigrew’s memories of your abilities.”

His face hadn’t lost its genial smile, but I felt that the air around us grew heavier and darker with every word said. His magic was flaring with his dislike of the situation, with his irritation. It didn’t roar, per say, but it went quiet and murmuring, like a threat in the wind. I swallowed and remembered the moment I’d first Seen Alby’s magic, colorful and bright and _oppressive,_ the moment I’d realized how very frightening a Light core could be even without knowing the magical theory of core allegiances.

(Funny enough, I couldn’t tell if this was displeasure of a leader being defied, or of a grandfather scolding their very errant grandchild. It could’ve been both. That, even in this situation, sparked a bit of affectionate amusement in my head. Behind the fear, of course.)

(The fear, but not guilt. Never.)

I took a deep breath. “I apologize for undermining your command as my mentor.”

The heaviness in the air stilled, and then drew back by just the slightest amount. “And though it has been many months since we’ve last spoken, I know you well enough that you are not apologetic in the slightest for somehow finding Helvynya Prevett’s _Sollertia Augurium_ and learning one of her more invasive techniques.”

Another brittle smile. “No. Not in the slightest.”

Alby’s shoulders sagged, just a little, and the pressure surrounding me abated entirely. He looked worn, his thin and lanky frame more fragile than normal. The bright colors he wore almost swallowed him. I was familiar with that resigned look; more familiar than I should be. It almost didn’t make me feel a thing anymore. His magic started to hum again, quiet and worn and faltering-but-steady as it always was.

“Perhaps it was too hopeful, to keep you away from the Dark Arts.” He said.

My magic thrummed in my chest at the thought, a flash of horror and indignant anger going through me before I forcibly calmed. “Changing someone’s core allegiance unnaturally like that is never a good idea, Alby. You taught me that.”

“I never forced Light magic around you, my dear,” he said gently.

My teeth were grinding against each other. “So you _starved_ me instead? My family is Light, Headmaster. You didn’t have to force anything.”

Alby sighed. “I cannot apologize for trying to guide you to the Light, my dear.” He looked up at me carefully, measuredly. “Just as you cannot apologize for pursuing the Dark with aplomb, once you were given the chance.”

A truce.

I nodded, Occluding my irritation away. There was nothing I could do about any of this now, and really, this wasn’t the point of this visit. Alby had done me wrong in denying my core the magic it could truly thrive in, but now that such a thing was acknowledged, he didn’t seem to be trying to take my borderline-Dark Arts away. This wasn’t the time.

“Almost five months,” I started. Alby looked attentive, knowing I was dropping this line of conversation. “Sneaking food and potions out, translating that particular section of _Sollertia Augurium_ , practicing shoddy-but-effective Legilimency — it took five months and we barely made it as is. I’ve known exactly what Pettigrew was for all these years, but Fate wouldn’t allow me anything until this year. So when I Saw the chance, I took it. I was guided to taking over Slytherin as _parvus potesta_ reigning, you know. The connections, I think, were important — lots of kids with Ministry connections, probably to do with Sirius’ trial or Pettigrew’s or whatever it is. That was needed, so I did it. Josephine Zabini, especially, was key.

“And then Sirius. I met him after break, and tested him. Do you know what I saw when I spoke to him, half-crazed and half-starved and barely human? A loyalty and devotion to his that rivaled mine, my family’s. I couldn’t ignore that. I couldn’t ignore how I’ve had to lend Harry nutrient potions when he gets back from that _Muggle filth_ he lives with. I couldn’t ignore the threat Pettigrew’s had over my family all my life. Five months of little sleep and too much work and having to translate the most terrible writing ever, going behind my friends’ and family’s backs… it was _worth it_ , Alby. Sirius was bit and I’m scarred for life, there’s going to be hell to pay from Destiny since I’ve pissed on one of her prophecies, but it was _worth it._ ”

I finished, the last words fierce and almost growled out. The image of a golden-eyed wolf in the dark flashed through my thoughts, covered in black fur and blacker shadows, and approving grin resting on a fanged maw. A bark of laughter that faded. My attention snapped back to Alby, who was considering my words.

“What did you do to the ritual, Lys?” the Headmaster asked quietly.

I narrowed my eyes. “How do you even know I did anything?”

He raised a white brow. “My dear, the Ministry investigated. I, myself, went to the Shrieking Shack to erase everything but what would lend credence to the story they know. I found the small drawing room on the first floor, and have studied Helvynya Prevett previously. I know those matrixes are not the originals. And, on a lower note, your school bag has been returned to your dormitory, though Tilly insisted on patching what was torn with the brightest thread she could dig up.”

Ah, I see. Erasing evidence of me and Sirius having associated for five months, since the story was that we hadn’t met until that night. And goddammit, Alby saw the ritual room. Well. Better than the Ministry seeing it, but still.

“I was not skilled enough to perform the Memory Ward ritual by myself,” I said carefully, “and Sirius wasn’t mentally stable enough or distanced from Pettigrew enough to perform it alone, either. Helvynya Prevett wrote about a man she’d coerced into undertaking the ritual with his favorite hunting hound as his anchor…”

Alby’s eyes widened. “You were used as an anchor? A living anchor?”

…I wasn’t sure if it was better or worse that Alby concluded _Sirius_ performed the ritual, because there was no way Sirius had been mentally stable enough to do so, but I decided to leave it. He came up with it on his own, after all.

“Some tweaks to the matrixes, a few changed runes. Sirius and I already had to use each other for Occlumency-training, since his mind was shredded and I didn’t know how to help him without learning a bit of Legilimency. It had some… odd side-effects, but if we left alone for long enough and Occluded firmly after our magics untangled, we were settled.” I explained.

The shared mindscape-bullshit-dream thing could… wait. For a bit. Until Sirius and I figured out what the hell happened, if it was permanent, how to fix it if not, how to deal with it if so. All that jazz that would probably not be received well by Alby, who was already miffed at my _Sollertia Augurium_ thing.

(Dumbledore didn’t even care that it was _illegal._ Then again, this was the man who encouraged Hermione and Harry to _fuck with time_ to save Sirius — both this world and the canon one I remembered — so whatever. I guess.)

“I see… Well… If you do not mind, Lys, I will be reviewing your altered matrixes. Would you consent to my checking your Occlumency barriers as well?”

I lowered my eyes. “With all due respect, Alby… No. I’m not seven anymore. Some thoughts need to be left alone, now. My barriers aren’t too good at the moment, I know, but I’ll fix them myself in due time.”

Alby nodded, understanding. (Thank god.) “Of course, my dear.” He paused. “I do not mean for you to see me as an enemy. I am not, I assure you. I am, as I have always been, an ally to you. A meddling old man of an ally, I suppose, and one who has made mistakes, but… I fondly remember the days when you would sit on my knee and hum Hogwarts’ magic to me. I did not want that child to become stooped in the Dark, to be on the edge of Madness.”

I blinked. Then I smiled, sure and soft. An apology was laced throughout all of that. “I know. You’ve got the best of intentions, Alby. You just… need to take a step back, sometimes, I think. Not on your scale, but I know what it’s like to have a thousand things to do that you neglect important things to do them. It’s easier if you have a partner in crime, you know? Sirius made this half of the year… much easier.”

(Was Sirius what it was like to have a godfather? Probably not — he was a bit irresponsible, letting me do Dark rituals like that — but if it was close, then Harry was in good hands. I never knew my godfather, dead in the war. Not a lot of us Weasley kids did. No wonder our parents were so determined to care for us, if there was no one else who would.)

Alby smiled sadly. “There are few wizards around anymore, whom I’d call a partner.”

_Bright blue eyes and pale hair — a teasing grin, crooked and playful — “We can make the world a better place, Albus! Think of it!” — triangle bisected by a line and centered by a circle, all in black, painted on the walls. The Deathly Hallows — an old man in a prison, sitting at the window and waving down to someone who couldn’t see him anymore, too far away, about to Disapparate-_

_Stop._

Gellert Grindewald.

I closed my eyes. Private memories. I didn’t want to go any further than that.

“I recommend the Hat, then. He’s quite helpful. And… I need to talk to him anyways, remind me next year. Or Fawkes. The flaming pigeon is quite nice when he wants to be, probably wise for being an immortal _dickhead_ , so…”

Alby chuckled, probably remembering one of the many spats I’d had with Fawkes during the lessons in my childhood. (They weren’t my fault! Most of the time! He was such a damn _Gryffindor_ bird, all red and gold, and then he was also so hoity-toity-I’m-a-legendary-phoenix-worship-me that I _had_ to mess with him — I was a kid with poor impulse control!)

“I shall think on that, my dear Lys. Visit me more next year, won’t you? Admittedly, my office is quite cozy and charmed, but I do miss the days of your running around underfoot within it. I said as much last year, did I not?”

I laughed, but my thoughts were sad. “Sorry. I’ve been busy this year… which is an excuse.” I had lied and misdirected quite a bit in this conversation with Alby. It wouldn’t hurt… to give him an honest truth. This wasn’t nearly as important, anyways. “Truthfully, I haven’t really been… in a healthy mindset. I told you about Tom Riddle, didn’t I? It was your office I realized his red was in my colors, all along the edges, like he’s protecting me. It’s not… I couldn’t go back. I didn’t want to think about that. So I don’t. I keep busy and I think about other things and I don’t mourn the Dark Lord I shouldn’t miss.”

Honestly, what was with me? Emotions all over the place. Righteous anger and joking amusement and grieving sadness, all in one conversation. Like I needed to get a year’s worth of speaking with Alby out of the way. I suppose it didn’t help that I was exhausted and my brain hurt from Seer visions and my face was a little bit on fire. I’d Slytherined enough, I could be a bit whiny granddaughter for a moment, couldn’t I?

Dumbledore’s gaze softened. “Visit me next year, Lys. Whenever you wish. I may not fill the role of mentor in your life, now, but I can still help you. I know a thing or two about loving people the world says you shouldn’t. I also know a thing or two about Tom Riddle. If I’d known you still suffered that loss now, I would have insisted long ago.”

“…You don’t have to. Weren’t you mad at me a few minutes ago?”

“I was displeased, but I understand. And in this, I am certainly not displeased, save in the fact that you hid your grief away and avoided the issue. But I understand.”

I swallowed. My magic hummed around me. I didn’t have my Soothsayer eyes up, but I could imagine the deep crimson blanketing around me. It always did that. It never acted like the rest of my magic; always a protective shell, never the cowering indigo. Which is why it was ridiculous that I associated it with _Tom Riddle_ , but…

“I’ll bring you hot chocolate and lemon tea.” I said. His favorites, even though they tasted horrible together.

The Headmaster smiled. “I will be waiting.”

(I wondered what I’d done to pay for this. The hurts in my face and my chest were jostled unexpectedly, but all I could do was smile for it.)

 

**…**

 

It was probably the Headmaster who made sure I didn’t have any more visitors after our talk. I was drugged up to my ears with Pain Relief potions and exhausted — physically, mentally, _and_ emotionally — and despite how much my family and friends deserved to know I was alright, I couldn’t do it. Alby must’ve sensed that or maybe he assumed so, because I know if he hadn’t barred visitors, I’d be buried in them.

Alby’d shown me quite a lot of mercy, letting me delay the flood of visitors for a moment. I’m sure he thought I needed it. And I did — getting my mind straight and letting the stories sink in and thinking about my next moves were important.

So the Ministry was given a story where Lupin made a mistake but did his best, Sirius Black was sympathetic and heroic, and Peter Pettigrew had a hand in all the misfortunes. Apparently he punched me in the face or something, made me bleed, got Lupin into a blood frenzy needlessly; a nice touch, one that smelled of Slytherin — I’d have to thank Snape later. The ritual was hushed up completely, which was fortunate. And it sounded like Lupin was going to get off easy, too, especially since the official story was that once he realized he bit his friend, he fled immediately; that was all Alby, I bet.

All in all, there were some holes, but the Ministry would be too flustered and emotional to examine those any further.

Good.

Alby was pissed at my interference, but I’m sure he knew there was a thread of Fate influencing it all. Nothing he could do about that; he knew better than to demand visions of me. He seemed to forgive me easily. And I suppose his own apology for his manipulations when I was younger, and maybe even for the neglect afterwards, made up for that, too. I’d have to visit him. 

I’d have to get my head on straight; next year was my last chance before everything went to hell. No more inopportune flashbacks. No more shitty Occlumency that broke at the slightest bit of pressure. No more festering grief. I had to be better than that; I was a leader and though I wasn’t the figurehead of the war, as Harry and Alby would be — one right after the other — I was still a pillar. I made myself into one, and I had to follow through.

Pushing on and distracting myself didn’t seem to be working too well. That would need to be fixed. I had to be completely ready for when Voldemort was resurrected — an event I was almost 100% sure Fate and Destiny would never allow me to change.

The Dark Lord was coming back, no matter what I did. I had to prepare for that.

_Last year, last chance,_ something whispered in my head.

_But before then,_ I thought firmly, _the ones I call mine deserve to be told._

Not everything. My boys didn’t know about my Clairvoyance and I wanted to keep it that way; they didn’t need to worry about that, too, among all the other grief I’ve no doubt caused them. But Hermione and Harry were told about my Clairvoyance — sneaky little bastard, that Pettigrew — and I needed to speak to them, to explain. My family needed to know about Pettigrew from my own lips, about Sirius, about what I’d had to do; I might have to entrust _Sollertia Augurium_ to Nate for the summer, to keep it safe. If I were my overprotective parents/siblings, I’d burn the thing to keep me away from it. I needed to apologize to all of them, to cover my tracks, to let them know that keeping secrets isn’t a mark of distrust against _them,_ but simply a mark of paranoia against _me._

They deserved the truth, even if it was after the fact. I couldn’t give them any more than that, even though I wanted to.

I turned over in bed, slanted moonlight through the shutters hitting my bandages and making them flare up with pain. I winced at the feel, and imagined the golden-eyed wolf in my head, blinking at me solemnly, huffing white, warm breath onto my face. There were fields of stars above him but no golden moon, and the clearing was empty of anyone but us.

My hand reached out, pale and draped in the hospital robes I’d been dressed in.

Before I touched him, I blinked. There was only the dark of pale privacy curtains and the hush of the Hospital Wing. The bedside table was scattered with empty and half-full potion bottles, my Iron Supplement, nutrient, Pain Relief, and an untouched Dreamless Sleep among them.

…

I would definitely need to see the cambion this summer. Maybe _with_ Sirius. He’d understand my acquaintance with one of the Darkest creatures in the world — How could he not? We apparently shared a mindscape, and I had a sinking feeling that if I were to call out to him, if he were conscious or near to it, Sirius would answer. And seeing as the ritual was done and finished with nearly a week ago… Well. This was unprecedented.

Another chore for the summer. Another bullet in the list.

But for now, it was time for me to sleep. I’d be getting an ear-full tomorrow, for sure. From everyone.

My hand reached for the Dreamless Sleep, a dark green bottle that reminded me of cartoon wine drawings, miniaturized. It tasted less awful than most potions, but I still shivered at the taste. In my sleep, my hand laid on the wolf’s muzzle gently and it gave me a baleful stare, not even a hint of fang. Fireflies lit up the air around him and I did not dream of terrible things for the first time in a rather long while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter may also be late, on account of school beginning and such. Sorry about that! But this here's a warning in advance, but I promise — I PROMISE — I will not drop this story right here. That'd be cruel.
> 
> Thanks for reading again! I appreciate all of you. :')


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was SO ahead of the game on this chapter. It's been done for ages, I'm even working on the next one now (about 80% complete) so I'd like to think you'll get your next chapter on time, too. :D There's actually quite a lot of cool-down chapters and Chapter 42 is shaping up to be much more emotional than this one, but I hope it's still quality.
> 
> Thanks as always to those who read and those who comment and kudos and bookmark — I definitely would've given up on this fic a long time ago if not for the support I've been receiving for it. :) 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> EDIT: HEY HELLO I almost forgot to mention I got fan art AGAIN!!! Good god, I love you guys. :') Here is the [LINK](https://fandom-otaku0735.tumblr.com/post/177395757059/a-watercolor-of-guinevere-sitting-in-her-parvus)!!!! It's lovely, and I appreciate you, fandom-otaku0735! Sorry it took you so long to find me on tumblr! XD

 

**…**

 

It wasn’t even surprising, really.

One moment, Madam Pomfrey was magicking away empty and half-empty bottles and muttering not-so-under her breath about reckless students (“First I had Potter, and if that wasn’t enough, Mother Circe just _had_ to send Weasley, and do I get a pay raise for all the worry you two cause me? Of course not…”) and the next?

It wasn’t surprising, not when I think about my family. But it _was_ very abrupt.

“LYSSIE!”

I snapped to attention, knowing that screeching-sobbing tone even if I were half-dozing and drugged up to my ears in pain medication.

“Mum?”

I was suddenly buried in peppermint and fuzzy robes and breakfast smells and warmth. I protested minutely as my face was pressed into my mum’s chest, her arms crushing me to her; it was good I was very, very drugged, because otherwise my face would be on fire again.

Something wet and warm was trickling on my head, and I knew from too much experience with blood that it wasn’t that.

“M-Mum- can’t- can’t b-breathe…” I choked out, the sound muffled by her trembling shoulders and rumpled clothing.

She released me and I almost felt there should’ve been a popping noise for it. I blinked at the sudden transition from smothered to in-a-white-bright-room, but bit back any annoyance when I looked at her.

Her hands were on my shoulders, and she was assessing me carefully. Mum’d always been a bit overweight — probably never managed to get her hourglass back after so many kids, poor Mum — but she had a pretty, heart-shaped face with warm eyes and hair just like Ginny’s, though usually put up so she could work. Her robes looked like she’d thrown them on, and she was still wearing an apron smeared with what looked like flour or something; must’ve been stress-cooking, which was a step above her stress-knitting, so she was likely freaking out silently at home about me. The thing that got me, though, was the wetness on her cheeks and how red her eyes were — always warm, and whenever I was involved, always worried.

Shit, were those _eye bags?_ God, when was the last time my mother’d _slept?_

“Oh, Lys…” she said softly, eyes tearing up as she looked at the bandage on my face.

I quirked a smile for her. “Hello, Mum.”

And somehow, that got the dam to break. She started outright sobbing, warbling words incoherently, pulling me back into her embrace much more carefully but just as fiercely as before. There were tears dripping into my hair and back but the only thing I did was hug her back, gripping my hands into her robes to make sure she knew I was alive.

She pulled back again, enough to look at my face with her overfilled eyes.

“Your face…” she murmured piteously, “My baby, your face…”

I smiled, as much as I could. “It’s not so bad. Madam Pomfrey’s been keeping an eye on it while I’ve been sleeping, and I’ve been taking Pain Relief every other hour, since I woke up. You got here pretty quickly, Mum, you’re seeing practically the worst of it. It’ll get better.”

My mother just cried, and my chest felt heavy and pinching with how nothing I could do would make her stop. The childish urge to paw at her face and wipe away the evidence that made shame creep on me had my hands twitching. Ginny didn’t cry often, as outgoing and happy as she always had been, but the few times she did — the few times she let herself cry in front of me, her sister who never quite knew how to make her stop the way Bill and Ron did — all I could do was gently rub them away and wrap my magic around hers, indigo curling around maroon. She recognized that feeling as something that vaguely translated to _togetherlovetogethertogetherlovelovemine,_ that feeling she’d known since she was born.

I tried to do the same with Mum, though I couldn’t flick my Mage Sight on. It was harder, going by just my ears, but my low, fast-paced song quieted and blended more into Mum’s bell-like, humming tones. If I looked, maybe my colors would struggle more, threading through Mum’s larger magical core, but I hoped the feeling would be the same. I hoped it comforted just as much.

“Oh, luv,” Mum whispered, “You must’ve been so scared.”

I blinked, taken aback. “…What?”

Mum teared up even more; her tears were ready to spill. “Albus told me- _us_ \- your father and I- We were told ev-everything. A-About th-that Pettigrew man, a-about how Albus- how he kept you aw-away from the Dark Arts — wh-which is horrible of him, b-because yo-you’re Dark, luv, you _h-have_ to practice y-your natural magic, e-especially since the r-rest of us a-are _Light…_ Oh Merlin, and that _book-_ our ancestor’s b-book, you went through it b-by yourself, a-and… And y-you were almost _bitten_ and you were c-connected to th-that Sirius Black fellow wh-when he was, a-an-and then you had to _nurse him_ a-all year…. Oh Merlin… my baby, you must’ve been so _terrified_ , I’m so sorry I wasn’t there, I never even _s-suspected-”_

“No!”

Mum drew back from me, surprised at my vehemence. I didn’t blame her. I was, too.

I cleared my throat, which was difficult with the sudden lump. “Mum, it’s not… Don’t apologize! You weren’t- You weren’t _supposed_ to know, I hid it from you — it was my fault. Please don’t cry…”

Mum shushed me with a quelling look. Not that I was scolded too much growing up — spoiled youngest with unfortunately powerful abilities talking here — but I’d seen it enough to know to shut my mouth.

“Lyssie,” she started gently, “You’re _my baby._ You were afraid and now you’re hurt and as your mother, that responsibility comes down to _me._ ”

“I’m twelve,” I responded, flinching at how weakly my words came out and wondering where that confidence that made me a Slytherin queen went, “I’ve been doing… Seer things. Sneaking around and getting illegal books and being pillars for mentally unstable ex-convicts. I chose to do that, it’s not… You didn’t do anything. Don’t apologize for it. Sh-Shouldn’t you be mad?”

“I’ll be furious later,” Mum assured me, smiling weakly, “The first thing a mother needs to know is if her baby’s alright. And- And- Oh, _Lyssie_ , you’re not, are you? You look so thin and tired and you were already so sickly during Christmas, now your face an-and your Oc-Occlumency, with the dementors and that- that _werewolf,_ oh Merlin…”

“It’s okay, Mum- Don’t blame Lupin. It was… It was payment. For Sirius to be free and Pettigrew to get locked up. It’s not Lupin’s fault. If anything, it’s mine.”

“Oh, luv, I’m not- He hurt you- I- Well- I’ll certainly _try_ not to blame the poor man, he looks perfectly miserable as is, but it’s hard when- Well. Madam Pomfrey said d-during the initial treatment you were th-thrashing around, a-and the full moons m-made you worse, all feverish and delirious and- Oh, Merlin, Lyssie, I d-don’t mean to- to blame the poor man, the man d-doesn’t control the wolf after all, but Ron told me th-they had to put a Silencing Charm on yo-your curtains and he couldn’t sleep either…”

“I don’t remember any of that, Mum, so I think I ought to apologize to Ron, if anything…”

“Th-Thank goodness for that, luv, but… But it doesn’t change the f-fact that w-we were all so _worried_ and- and- Why didn’t you tell us about Pettigrew? About th-that _horrible_ , **_disgusting_** man in our home — we would’ve gotten rid of him, you didn’t have to be so scared all these years — th-that little _creature_ probably made your nightmares all the worse, bringing your fear out and- and your Clairvoyance drawing on that!”

Ah, there was the fury. And thank Merlin it wasn’t directed at me. Yet.

(The indignant rage was barely a distraction from Mum’s blotchy cheeks and eyes, but I took it in with glee. I didn’t know how to deal with tears, and I was very used to keeping mine away. An accomplishment, considering how easy I cried during movies and books in my last life.)

“Fate wouldn’t have allowed that, Mum. This year… It was my first chance to get at him, to punish him for what he did to Sirius and Harry and us and everyone else he’s ever wronged. I took it, and my face… was the price.”

_Sirius was the price._

Unfortunately, Mum’s anger gave away to tears once again. “But… Lyssie, I know your father had this… this conversation with you, b-before, but… You know you don’t have to sacrifice y-yourself for everyone, don’t you? R-Ron and Harry… t-they thought you did all this f-for Harry’s sake? I love Harry as much as R-Ron, I worry about that boy all the time, b-but I’d never… I didn’t- I didn’t want you in th-that coma when you saved Ron all those years ago, and I certainly don’t want you to- to think that I _encourage_ m-m- _mutilating_ yourself f-for… for anyone else…”

I scrunched my brows together. “I saved Ron’s _life_ , Mum.”

“And whose did you save this time, Lyssie?” she asked pointedly.

A flash of irritation overwhelmed everything else I was feeling. Was she calling my efforts _pointless?_ Really? “ _Sirius and Harry’s!_ And mine! Mum, Pettigrew knew I was a Seer, I needed-”

“Albus gave the very distinct impression that you paid for his _capture,_ young lady-”

“And who’s to say that I didn’t pay for the ritual, too, Mum? I certainly can’t, my Sight isn’t strong enough that I can differentiate specific cause and effect!”

“Don’t take that tone with me, Lys…” she warned.

Part of me wanted to argue, because if she was going to call me out, then I was obviously going to defend myself. The other part of me — the larger part of me — was still curled around her magical core, was looking at her red-rimmed eyes and sloppy appearance, was feeling the pulse of pain through the pain killers. That part of me had my mouth shut and my eye lower, chin bowed slightly; even beyond Slytherin, this much was a obvious call of submission.

(Besides. This was _my mother._ )

(Even Draco Malfoy bowed his head to his mother.)

“I know,” she said, calmer and quieter, “I know you’ll do anything for yours, Lyssie. But… But your father said it was ‘me and mine’, didn’t he? That includes _you._ Lyssie, I’ll never… We’ll never understand what it’s like, for you to- to know such horrible things, to S-See them… We’ve tried to get you the resources you need to- to defend yourself o-or to help yourself, we’ve tried… t-to not… to not talk about the war s-so you don’t dream about it at night a-and wake up screaming. We’ll… We’ll never know h-how you feel, but if you’re scared, if you’re stressed, I wish… Why didn’t you come to us, so we could at least- at least give y-you somewhere to feel safe? T-To help yourself, too. To protect yourself, too. Not just y-your brothers and Harry and th-those friends you talk about so fondly, b-but you need to keep yourself safe, too.”

“I’m alive, Mum.”

“You were alive last year, but all you had was grief you refused to share and a concussion that healed in a day, luv. This year, you got sc-scars that will n-never go away. What about next year, Lys? W-Will your father and I have t-to dread Albus coming through our Floo next year, too? For something _worse?”_

Guilt crushed my arguments and petulance into pieces.

“I don’t do this to make you worry.”

“My Lyssie, I know.” Mum said, smoothing my wavy bangs away from my face to look at me properly, eyes flitting from my bandaged side to my good side and back again. “But we would worry so much less if we knew you wouldn’t throw yourself into these situations so- so _recklessly._ W-We were hoping that your Sorting meant you’d be calmer than your siblings, _not wilder._ ”

I had to laugh at that. I had a feeling that she was waiting for Dad to come talk to me; Dad always got through to me easier than she did. Not that they didn’t love me the same or that I didn’t love Mum, but she and I both knew I connected to Dad easier. No doubt that my conversation with Dad would be more… compromises and deals and explanations. Dad, as an Occlumens and just as himself, had an easier time compartmentalizing; he wouldn’t break down, trying to make me promise to be better.

He would tell me to be better and then use his emotions to make me promise. Dad had become much more of a _Slytherin,_ dealing with me over the years. Just like Percy and Ron and Ginny, actually.

For now, Mum was letting that important part of this conversation go. Waiting for reinforcements. I smiled at her and ignored it. “Sorry Mum, I think I just made all of Slytherin that much more reckless than they made me cautious.”

Mum chuckled. “Of course you did. You’ve always been a little unstoppable force, Lys, everyone else getting caught in your path. Just… Just, please, Lyssie. Your father and I can’t worry about you _and_ Ron _and_ Harry all at once.”

“Are Ron and Harry getting this lecture?” I asked dryly.

“Young lady, if you thought that was a lecture, you’ve been far too sneaky and not observant by _far_ , these years.” Her eyes narrowed and I swallowed at the sudden intensity in them. (Oh dear god, I would have to apologize to Fred and George for laughing at them all the time whenever they faced Mum in one of these moods, wouldn’t I?) “ _Going out after curfew?_ ** _For five months straight?_** To see a man — granted, an innocent one — but a GROWN MAN who’d broken out of AZKABAN _every night_ and practicing **LEGILIMENCY?** Messing with a Dark Legilimencic ritual from the book of one of the _Maddest Dark witches in history?_ EXHAUSTING YOUR MAGICAL CORE _AGAIN_ AND FIGHTING A WEREWOLF AND USING THE _BONE-SNAPPER CURSE_ — on a terrible man — BUT AT ALL? _YOUNG LADY, WHEN YOUR FATHER GETS BACK FROM THE MINISTRY —_ ** _that is all overworked because of you_** — _WE ARE GOING TO HAVE A_ SERIOUS _CONVERSATION ABOUT YOUR_ CHOICES-!”

(A small part of me remained wrapped up with my mother’s colors, song layered on song, familiar and relaxed and pleased and comforted. The other, larger part of me was half-paralyze in terror as my mother shouted every frustration she had at me, reassuring me that she loved me dearly every other sentence and congratulating me on breaking Pettigrew’s arm, but still. I see exactly where Ginny and Ron and somewhat-Percy got their tempers from.)

(This was infinitely better than making my mother cry.)

 

**…**

 

The day passed in a similar, Weasley vein.

Mum stayed when my brothers (and sister) all piled in, not missing a chance to say hello to us before we officially came home for the summer. Bill and Charlie were obviously still abroad, and Dad was stressed at the Ministry I’d flung into a screaming mess of belated trials and bad security and such, but all of us Weasleys were squeezed into my privacy curtains and grouped around my bed for a few hours.

Mum was perched at my side, having claimed one of my hands to hold and listening intently as I taught her the spells to reduce the swelling in her eyes (after crying) and helped her look a bit less of a mess. Percy was the first to burst into the curtains, red-faced and gasping for breath and zeroing in on me with such intensity that my hackles raised and I prepped for another lecture. Only, instead of words, Percy just flung himself forward and hugged the life out of me, making my face wounds twinge and him throw himself backwards when he felt the flinch.

“Percy, it’s alright! I’m due for another round of pain killers, anyways — don’t worry about it!” I shouted over his stuttering apologies.

(Percy was so much like our mother it almost _wasn’t funny._ )

Mum laughed at us quietly as I coaxed Percy back near me, giving him a gentler but no less well-meant hug. I winced inwardly when I felt him shaking slightly.

“Perce?” I prompted, half-cuddled into his side.

“I almost hexed a professor,” said my favorite brother, voice dazed.

I drew back quickly, glaring. “It wasn’t Lupin’s fault!”

He looked pointedly at my bandages.

I glared harder. “I _chose_ this, Percy. I actually expected much worse. Fate decided to surprise me.”

He paled at the implication. “You were going to _willingly_ be _bitten?”_ he hissed.

Mum gasped. Then she growled, “Lyssie…”

“Looks like we ought to actually prank him, then, eh, Gred?”

“Too true, Forge, too true.”

A momentary distraction in the form of the twins passing through the curtain cheerfully, plopping down near Percy on my bed and patting at my knees in initial greeting. If either looked a little more happy when they did, indeed, confirm that I was physically there and as well as can be after a werewolf scratch, I wouldn’t mention it. Percy (grudgingly) shuffled over to let them get their quick hugs in, George lingering a bit longer than Fred, both of them looking much less sleep-deprived and hassled than my Mum and Percy.

I gave them flat stares after leaning back on my pillows. “Touch Lupin and die.”

“Well…”

“We don’t exactly have to _touch_ Lupin to _prank_ him-”

“-and shouldn’t you know that by now, Lyssie?”

“Master pranksters don’t need something as paltry as _physical contact_ -”

“-for their victims to be pranked, proper-like.”

My expression didn’t change a bit, for all that I was cheered at the most elusive of my Hogwarts brothers being around. “The man literally fell over himself to help Harper when he knocked over the Grindylow tank, I think he’d rather die than bite a child. As it is, he bit his own best friend, so yeah: leave the poor man alone.”

The twins looked rather carefree about it, and I didn’t detect any glint of mischief in their eyes, so I figured they weren’t too pissed at Lupin to begin with. Percy looked a little petulant, and Mum gave me a look that said I’d be talking to her and Dad later, so I left it well alone. At least the twins were sensible; they, plus Bill and Charlie, had always skipped out on the Weasley protective craziness, I felt. Protective, certainly, but not to the point where our parents, Percy, Ron, somewhat Ginny (depending on her mood), and I were at.

“So? What’s the news around Hogwarts, then?” I asked brightly.

“Well,” Fred started drawlingly, “the dementors are gone.”

“For good reason!” Mum started venomously, “Attacking a severely injured man and Harry like that! When Sirius Black was innocent! And Harry was only trying to help him after being savaged by a werewolf! Unbelievable!”

“And after all that they do to you and the other Slytherins,” Percy muttered, “Yours and Potter’s were more severe cases, but not a single student wasn’t affected by the dementors. I can’t believe the Headmaster and Minister didn’t know better.”

Oh dear god, it was always nice to see when Percy criticized authority. That meant I was that much further away from that terrible world where he’d leave the family for the Ministry. And maybe he did it more because I — his favorite sibling — was always so delighted when he did. Huh. Butterfly effect, I suppose.

“I’d like to point out, in defense of Alby, that he fought the Minister every step of the way.”

“You barely spoke to him this year, Lyssie-” Fred put in.

“-but then again, you do have a talent for knowing things.” George finished with a wink.

Mum fluffed up like a protective mama bird. “Good on Albus, then! Those monsters don’t have anything to _do_ with natural allegiances — children shouldn’t meet those _things_ on their own school grounds!”

“So Harry went and cast a Patronus, then?” I asked.

“Ronniekins confirms-”

“When will you two stop calling me that?”

“Why, Ronniekins!”

“And Gingin!”

“What a pleasant coincidence!”

“Are you two, by chance, here to visit a family member as well?”

“One whom is so grossly behind in the Hogwarts rumor mill that it’s quite unbecoming of a Slytherin queen?”

“Oh thank Merlin, my twin and my brother are here. You two can go now.” I said, as exuberantly as the demon twins.

“Oh, brother, I have been wounded-!”

“How our dear youngest sister treats us!”

Ron grumbled about the twins but gave me a brief hug, stepping out of the crowded area quickly and taking a seat near Mum. Ginny, however, glared at Percy until he slunk away nearer to the twins so she could take his spot. I laughed at her and let her hug me tightly, taking care not to flinch at the pain in my wound this time.

She swept her eyes across my face — looking much less teary than Mum’s, for sure, her disposition more like the twins’ — and grinned widely. “You are going to have wicked scars, Lyssie, and I hope you intimidate any boyfriends I snag next year with just a look.”

My heart lightened at the easy acceptance and solid support behind that statement.

I smiled at her. “Shouldn’t you be dreading that?”

“You’re not getting a boyfriend, Ginny.” Ron stated warningly.

Ginny ignored him, shrugging. “If someone _does_ manage to get past my Slytherin sister with the awesome scars, then I think they might deserve me.”

“Well said, Gingin!”

“Don’t forget our pranks!”

“ _You are not dating next year.”_ Ron hissed.

Ginny smirked at the awkwardly silent Percy; our older brother didn’t know whether to join Ron or stay away from Ginny’s wrath. She made the decision for him. “And not to mention, it’ll make sure anyone who wants to date _you_ isn’t a shallow git, too.”

Percy straightened up and threw out his most imperious voice. “Lyssie, I _strongly_ oppose the idea of _you dating.”_

Mum chuckled to herself. “I suppose that’s one way of looking at things positively… I needn’t warn you two girls, but boys see pretty faces and lose their wits completely. You two know to only bring home the ones who get those wits back, don’t you? As nice as it is to have a boy around your finger, you’re _my_ daughters, and I won’t accept anyone less headstrong than the both of you.”

“MUM!”

“Mother, please don’t encourage them.”

“Dad’s going to die if he hears of this.”

“Dad’s going to _cry_ when he hears of this, you mean.”

“And even if we’re not identical,” Ginny went on, patting my hand and ignoring our brothers commiserating around us, “we’re both very pretty, you know, Lyssie. If you’d only grow your hair out and let me at it, I’m sure you’d be buried in Valentines again, like last year.”

I shivered. “The only reason I wasn’t this year was that I made a _potesta-_ wide announcement to give all of mine to Harper. He sorted for me.”

Ginny snickered. “Yes, well, our first year was right funny.”

“No it wasn’t! Most of mine were hexed!”

“HEXED?” Percy and Ron and Mum chorused, outraged.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Anyways, what was I saying? Right. We’re both rather pretty, you know, and with your scars you’ll be even more appealing. It’s not like Lupin wasn’t stared at by some of the older girls, you know, so I’m sure-”

“Oh, ew, Ginny, I didn’t need to know that!” Ron protested.

Percy looked disgusted and the twins’ cheerfulness faltered into small grimaces. Mum snickered.

I blinked. “I’m… not sure I wanted to know that, either. What- _You’re twelve._ Why are you thinking about these kinds of things?”

“Well, Sarah’s _thirteen_ , and she’s definitely thinking about-”

“Merlin, Ginny, not here! Do this when we get back home and you two share a room again!”

“I’m… As Head Boy, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear any of that.”

“Why does it matter if you’re Head Boy or not?”

“Yes, _do tell_ , oh glorious Head Boy!”

And so it went on like that; a grouping of my siblings was just asking for chaos and ridiculousness, so it was to be expected. Mum looked mostly content, listening to us and enjoying the gossip and doling out a sharp word if someone swore (Ron, mostly). The demon twins and Percy caught me up as best they could, in between Ginny and Ron distracting us all.

The entire school was buzzing with stories from that night. It was mostly agreed that the Ministry-given story was the true one, since some Ministry workers let it slip to their kids and some ghosts were confirming it (I’d have to thank the Bloody Baron for his information damage control, I was sure he was at the center of it). Obviously my wounds were over-exaggerated, a slew of Gryffindors convinced that I was as disfigured as Mad-Eye Moody and would have to wear a mask to school. Some believed I was actually _bitten._

I wasn’t surprised to learn that Lupin had to be let go and that no one was quite sure what was going to happen to him, as no one was quite sure what injuries he inflicted in his wolf form. Alby’d told me he’d be alright, since the confusion of the night and the influence of Peter Pettigrew were what really pushed him to biting an ex-con and accidentally scratching a student. He might be fined, but I had every confidence that Sirius — Lord of the Black Family — would intervene once he was freed officially. All of this, I related to my siblings and they were likely to spread the word as soon as someone asked them about it.

For the most part, it was a quiet — for us Weasleys — visit that cheered me up more than it didn’t. They didn’t leave until Madam Pomfrey declared visiting hours over and rushed them away.

“I think the rest of everyone you like will visit tomorrow,” George assured me as he was almost bodily hauled out by the pissed-off Healer.

Mum kissed my forehead, following Madam Pomfrey and her shouting at the twins for being overly-loud. “I’m so very glad you’re alright, Lyssie. It was nice to visit you, even if it was in the Hospital Wing again.”

Ginny darted in to squeeze my hand once more. “Tell me the full story on the train?”

“I’ll tell all of you at _home_ ,” I said with a laugh, “Sit with your friends on the train.”

She nodded. “See you later, little sis.”

“Thanks for coming.”

“As if I’d skip out on you. G’night, Lyssie.”

Mum laughed as Ginny dragged Percy and Ron out, both of whom were complaining and trying to give me side-hugs. She pulled the white blankets up on me a little more.

“I’ll see you at home, luv.” Mum said gently in goodbye.

 

**…**

 

The next morning, my wounds felt a little worse and Madam Pomfrey clucked at me for it. I spoke too much yesterday, which aggravated the wounds; she upped the pain killer dosage and said that I’d have stricter visiting hours, if only because she knew I’d never be allowed to stay quiet with all the visitors here to ask me things. I situated my pillows and readied myself for whoever was due to interrogate me today.

I raised my right brow — as my left was completely covered with gauze and tape and would be incredibly uncomfortable to move — when I saw Ron poke his head inside with a sheepish twitch of his lips.

“Why, it’s been so long, Ron.” I said dryly.

He stepped in fully. “Harry and Hermione didn’t want to visit you without me.”

Harry followed easily, eyeing Ron. “Don’t listen to him, Lys.”

Hermione strode through after him, staring pointedly at Ron. “Who was the one trailing after us when we were talking about going to visit and getting sulky when the twins and Ginny complained that you shouldn’t get to see Lys again?”

Ron had a pink tinge to his face, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He skulked over to me, sitting at my bedside, one knee up and the other leg dangling over the bed, nestled right next to me. “Percy and Ginny were hogging all your time. We didn’t even ask if you were okay.” Ron mumbled.

I smiled. Ginny probably yelled at the fretting Percy and Ron — Percy not as secretively as Ron, of course — that she was my twin, _of course_ she knew I was alright besides the usual you’d expect from a werewolf claw. Neither would be satisfied with that; Percy probably made Ron a list of things to look for to make sure I was _really_ alright.

Ron probably memorized it, the way he was surreptitiously (not really) studying me.

Hermione and Harry took seats beside each other, on the opposite side.

“I can see you’re practically vibrating in your seat, Hermione,” I said, amused at her guilty expression, “I can answer whatever you want, within reason. I suppose you did all sorts of research on Clairvoyants in the library already?”

Hermione huffed. “ _Ron_ was better to ask about Clairvoyants than the library. All information on that branch of Seers is so vague! Or insubstantial. They’re so rare that it’s ridiculous! And Ron says that you’re a Seer-Soothsayer _and_ a Seer-Clairvoyant?”

Ron rolled his eyes.

Harry chuckled, but turned earnest eyes on me, eyes flicking to the bandages often. “You’re alright, Lys?” he asked.

Hermione made a small ‘eep’ sound. “Oh! Yes, of course, Lys, you don’t have to talk too much if you can’t! With a wound like that, it must hurt if you move your face too much… Oh god, you _are_ alright, aren’t you? We tried to stop the bleeding as much as we could, I was honestly contemplating fire spells to make it stop, since I knew you were anaemic and really couldn’t afford to lose as much blood as you were, but I didn’t know enough about first aid to know whether I should or not-”

“You were magically exhausted, Hermione, I wouldn’t have asked a single _Incendio_ from you at that point.” I said kindly, remembering that detail from my vision vividly, since Ron had looked so worried when he pointed the symptoms out in her.

She scrunched her brows together quizzically. “I’m almost completely sure you were unconscious by that point, how did you…”

“Clairvoyance, Hermione.” Harry reminded her.

“Oh!”

I smiled at her shocked/delighted/interested expression. No wonder Ron had a crush on her, honestly, Hermione was positively adorable when she got excited. He needed a strong woman to keep him in line, too. My brother would make a good choice; and if I did something to change that, I’d do whatever I could to change that right back, because I shipped it hard.

I was an aunt in my first life. I really would like to be one again.

“Is… Is it true, Lys, that you started having visions when you were five?”

It was, surprisingly, Harry who broached the topic — truly — first.

Unbidden, the words of a memory came up: _She hasn’t cried like this since she was five._ I automatically glanced over to Ron, who pressed closer to my shoulder and had a somewhat-cross, somewhat-determined look on his face.

I shook my head. “I’ve been Seeing since I was born, actually. My mental development was actually quite fast because of it.”

Ron grunted. Probably thinking uncharitable things towards my Clairvoyance.

I reached over to pat his knee. “Not every single little thing I Saw was a nightmare, Ron. I remember that some visions were quiet pleasant. Most, in fact. The chronic nightmares were…” I went half into lecture-mode, knowing Hermione would be interested and Harry would do his best to follow along, “…well, Alby and Dad and I have a theory that Clairvoyant visions — at least mine — react to certain stimuli. Things that trigger strong feelings in me, I See more about them. The more I loved our family, the more I Saw how the war shaped it. The more I was afraid of that, the more terrible things I Saw done to us. My magic rose up to protect me, but it can’t very well attack itself, so my accidental magic was strong and that scared me, too. So I Saw terrifying magic — and where was a lot of that? The war.”

“Which is why you had to learn Occlumency so young.” Ron muttered.

“Occlumency?” Hermione asked.

Ron answered. “Mind magic. Legilimency is the branch of Mind Arts that lets people go into other minds. Attack, right? Occlumency is the opposite, defense. It can get really bloody intricate, depending on skill level. Dad taught himself and then taught Lyssie, and Dumbledore helped after that, but Lyssie’s Dark so defensive magic will never be her specialty. Plus her core’s not even matured.”

“Snape’s an Occlumens and a Legilimens,” I added.

Harry looked horrified. “Snape can _read minds?”_

I snorted. “Don’t worry, it’s illegal and unbecoming to throw Legilimency around like you’re thinking. Snape would never let himself be unbecoming.”

Ron gave me a Look. “Why did you never tell us your git Head of House was a _Legilimens?”_

I rolled my eyes. “As if Snape would lower himself to using magic to look into your heads. If he can’t read the thoughts straight off your faces, he’d be a failure of a Slytherin.”

Hermione gave me a funny look. “What is it you _do_ in Slytherin?”

Ron shook his head. “Best not ask that, Hermione. They’re all either gits like Malfoy or nutters because of Lyssie.”

“Josephine Zabini was already crazy before I met her.” I pointed out.

“Josephine Zabini likes making girls cry just because she thinks their faces are amusing.” Ron returned flatly. “You didn’t see when she’d come to the Tower to flirt with Percy for that one month and a half they dated, but our girls would _hide_. Percy’s never been more respected. Lyssie, that woman scares the _demon twins._ ”

I gasped. “They’re not dating anymore?!”

“No, thank Merlin.”

I frowned. “Percy hasn’t said that in his letters. And Josie never told me…”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, you’ve been a bit busy sneaking out to go perform dangerous bloody rituals with Sirius Black, now, haven’t you?”

I shrunk down, sheepish. “Ah, well… I got a godfather out of it, sort of?” I grinned at Harry. “That makes us god-siblings of some sort, doesn’t it?”

“He’s your godfather?” Harry asked, puzzled.

“He decided that he was going to be, what with the whole… taking care of him for nearly half a year? I honestly think I know the man better than I know Ginny, with us having jumped around each other’s heads for so long.” I grinned at Harry. “You were a smiley baby, Potter.

Harry blushed.

Ron snorted, pointing at Harry. “Just deserts, Harry. You were laughing your head off when Mum got out the bloody baby pictures last summer, and now my sister’s got dirt on you.”

“He used to chase his house cat around and once almost flushed it down a loo.” I supplied helpfully.

Hermione looked scandalized, as a cat-owner. “What?!”

Ron cackled. 

“I don’t even remember any of this!” Harry protested.

“Too bad, Harry, I’m going to embarrass the ever-loving shit out of you the moment you start noticing girls. S’only fair, since all my older brothers’ve done it to the poor bastard who was born after them, and I’ve only got Lys and Gin.”

“Wait, is that why Charlie wrote Percy so much last year?” I asked.

“Yeah, ‘cos Bill needled _him._ Percy’s planning on writing essays about, you know, the wands and cauldrons talk and then dictating them to a Howler for the demon twins when it’s his turn. I’m his snitch.” Ron explained gleefully.

…This was such a _brothers_ thing I couldn’t even feel put-out about not knowing about this tradition until now. Hermione and I exchanged glances and tried hard to keep smiles off our faces as Harry complained.

“Wait, this means the demon twins are going to go at _you.”_ I said.

Ron grimaced.

I shook my head. “Sorry, Potter, guess you’re next in line. Ron’ll go mad if he has to endure the demon twins without some sort of vengeful retribution on the horizon.”

“Why am _I_ being punished for Ron getting embarrassed?”

“Because younger brothers always get the short stick, mate. Trust me.” Ron assured.

“I’m not even related to you!”

“Wrong,” I said helpfully, throwing a very amused grin at Hermione, giggling behind her hands, “You’re my god-brother, which means you’re related to me, and I’m related to Ron, thus you two are related.” _And you’re going to marry my sister so you’re our brother-in-law, you know._

Harry gave me a very betrayed look. “Is this revenge for the flying thing?”

I smiled sweetly. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Bloody Slytherins.”

After than, it was just a lot of trading stories and banter from there; light-hearted and cheerful. Which was nice; maybe Ron figured I’d need more cheer after he saw me yesterday. I just made sure to thread the conversations with information I knew Harry and Hermione wanted, alternating between explaining and making them laugh and getting more school gossip from them.

I talked a lot about Sirius and my months just working alongside him, telling amusing stories so they all knew and liked the man as much as I did. (So Harry could learn about his godfather.) Somewhere in between me recounting the way Sirius and I prepared the ritual every day — for both Hermione’s benefit and Harry’s, honestly — and explaining how my Clairvoyance wasn’t strong enough for me to be 100% aware of all the prices and all the effects and all the choices, my face started bleeding again. I felt it before Hermione gasped and pointed, but I waved the concern away and was put out when they decided to get Madam Pomfrey.

Hermione and Ron went off to find her, leaving me with Harry for a bit.

He’d scooted closer while I was talking animatedly about our shared godfather, nodding along to my explanations of Clairvoyance and the Memory Ward as Hermione delighted in it, asking questions to keep us on subject when Ron and I started squabbling.

I touched at the gauze on my face and frowned when my fingers came away red.

“Well, that’s not promising.”

Harry cringed. “Are you alright?”

I nodded, fibbing just a little. “I’m so loaded up on pain-killers, Harry, I can barely feel it.”

Harry nodded. “Er… Lys?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you… I mean, it sounds like you and Sirius are really good friends already, and… And I… He asked me, really quick, before everything went sideways… Er… Do you think I’ll get to live with Sirius after his trial?”

I blinked. Then I sighed. “Oh. Oh, Harry, I… I guess that’s another thing I have to apologize for. I don’t think… Well, werewolves are given so little rights as is, it’s just… There’s a lot they’ll do for Sirius, especially because he’s the Lord of House Black now, but. I don’t think werewolves are allowed to adopt human children.”

The disappointment and hurt in Harry’s expression made me want to curl up in a corner in shame and guilt.

He swallowed. “Oh. Well… It’s not your fault, Lys, since- since if he _wasn’t_ bitten, Pettigrew might’ve gotten away or something, so. I mean. Er… It’s… It’s okay. He might’ve have a hard time taking me in, anyways.”

I straightened. “But he would’ve, Harry. And he would now, if the Ministry weren’t so prejudiced and ridiculous,” I said firmly, “He loves you, Harry. Sirius is grateful to me and considers me his friend, but _he broke out of Azkaban_ for you. The dementors took every memory of you he had because he _loves you_. Never forget that.”

Harry was blushing to the tips of his ears. “Er… Oh.”

He fidgeted. Bloody _boys,_ so reluctant to emote the softer feelings. Or maybe it was just a teenager thing? I was the same, I knew, with my anxiety about emotional confrontation and that sort of thing. Being vulnerable _sucked_. In light of that, I felt a bit more sympathetic towards Harry.

I reached over to touch at his shoulder. “Just because you don’t get to live with him doesn’t mean he’ll leave you alone forever. After the trial, you know he’s _going_ to push the law as far as it can go. He’s a Marauder, isn’t he? He won’t be able to take legal custody of you, but that doesn’t mean he can’t visit you every day or have you over every other week. Not to mention, since he’s now _my_ godfather as well, you bet your arse I’m going to use that Black family fortune to pay for Floo powder so I can go bother you, too.”

Harry chuckled. “The Dursley’s don’t have a real fireplace.”

“That can be easily remedied, as we _are,_ you know, magical.” 

He snorted, and it looked like he’d been trying not to. I grinned at the sight. 

“Chin up, luv,” I said, emulating my Mum almost a bit too much, “It isn’t too bad.”

Harry eyed me, still looking embarrassed but seemingly determined to get past it. “You say, as your face is gushing blood.”

I shrugged, remembering the stinging pain suddenly but playing it off. “Ah, well. You can’t have everything, Potter.”

There were voices and footsteps approaching outside of the curtains. I heard the angry tones of Madam Pomfrey already, which meant I’d be yelled at and the Trio would be booted. Harry knew it, too; us old Hospital Wing veterans were dab hands at figuring out the dragon-lady’s moods and predicting her actions, after all.

Harry smiled at me. “You know you’re a good friend, don’t you, Lys?”

I snorted. “No, no, I’m a _terrible_ friend. My boys will tell you that I haven’t properly tutored them or helped them with spell-casting for months. Some will even complain that I’ve been foisting paperwork on them.”

He shook his head. “You’re spread thin, I don’t think that means you’re a bad friend.” He grinned, pushing his glasses up and fidgeting. “Thank you, Lys. For everything you’ve done. I promise to make it up to you one day.”

“You don’t need to.” I said gently.

_You’re going to be the figurehead of the war,_ I thought sadly, seeing this thirteen-year-old Harry Potter smile at his feet and shuffle in place and not think about how heavy the Destiny on his shoulders was, _You’re going to kill Voldemort. You’re going to protect my brother and love my sister. You don’t need to make up for anything. This is me, making up all of that for you._

Of course, I couldn’t say that. That would be a change in itself, warning Harry beforehand. I couldn’t pay the price right now. I think I was already in debt with Fate and Destiny as it was; the pulsing pain in my face, under my eye and coming down to my neck, was proof of that.

“See you later, then,” I said.

Harry beamed. “Yeah. See you, Lys.”

The curtains flew open and Madam Pomfrey positively screeched at the wet, red bandages on my face. (“WEASLEY! Did I or did I _not_ warn you not too speak too much!? You ridiculous child, look at the state of you! _YOU_ THREE! _OUT!_ Miss Weasley has more healing to do!”) Hermione and Ron were behind her, looking slightly traumatized and apologetic, waving me goodbye as the Healer ranted up a storm. Harry ran out to slip into his place between them, throwing a cheeky grin over his shoulder as he did, and the Golden Trio were gone, heads filled with stories of Sirius Black and magical theory and promises for summertime.


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So every time I'm like, 'Yeah the chapter's DEFINITELY gonna be on time' this bullshit happens. I only had half of it done when I woke up eleven hours ago, and I only started working on it when I came back from class... So yeah. No more. I will NO LONGER jinx myself, who the hell knows when the next chapter's coming out!? Sometime in two weeks-ish!!
> 
> Anyways. Barely made my deadline (ya girl on the American west coast) and maybe it feels rushed because of it, but here's some DRAMA. A 'lil too much, but eh. Hormonal almost-teens, am I right? Also, y'all give the loveliest comments ever, I swear. So happy~ :) 
> 
> But yeah, you're all the best! Thanks for reading! Enjoy!

 

**…**

 

I woke up to my jaw clenching and my wounds burning, pulsing with pain with every beat of my heart, skin tingling as slats of moonlight slid through the curtains I’d asked Madam Pomfrey for. Apparently the Hospital Wing was drafty enough that the light-but-thick cloth shifted, pouring moonlight onto my face and aggravating the werewolf-inflicted wounds. Annoying.

There was a distant groan of pain in my joints, pushing against my muscles and skin; like the ache of sore muscles. My arm swung up weakly, reaching for the ceiling to stretch out the soreness in vain, and I saw a golden-eyed wolf nudging at my fingers, felt the cold wet of his nose and the warm breath on my face. It towered above me but gave off a gentle feeling, an impression that he was trying to comfort me.

And then I was looking at the ceiling again, wondering if I was losing my mind.

“Oh, Lyssie, you’ve really fucked it up now.” I whispered.

I had the feeling this was a more permanent than not addition to whatever the hell was wrong with my head. Sirius had said something about mindscapes, right? Which was a higher-tier level of Occlumency, one I never quite thought I’d reach with how terribly mediocre I was at it; I had decently mastered the first tier skills, meditation and low-level barriers and streamlining thinking, but anything to do with traps or intricate memory puzzles or keys or symbolic representations of the way I thought? That was beyond me at this point.

It _wasn’t_ beyond Sirius’, once upon a time. The dementors took away his mental stability, which likely collapsed his mindscape and whittled away at even his barest, simplest Occlumency barriers. I had stabilized Sirius for five months. I guess performing a ritual that often and then one of us being bitten by a werewolf while still linked sort of… pushed me into a permanent place as a stabilizing agent? That sounded feasible.

Shit.

Late-night overthinking always got me down. Or paranoid. Both, maybe. I was definitely more optimistic when I wasn’t in constant pain, it was light out, I’d just seen some of my favorite people, and I wasn’t overthinking shit.

Tch. I needed to go to sleep, dammit.

Except that magic-song approaching was really quite familiar.

Wasn’t even halfway through my curtains when I grinned (stretching my wound but ignoring that). “You have a thing about visiting me in the Wing late at night, don’t you?”

Dietrich stepped through the curtain and I felt my smile falter at the sight of him.

The… The thing about Dietrich, right, is that his anger burns as bright as a Gryffindor’s; it’s just harder to tell, because his ideal is for his temper to run as cold, like how the demons twins were — not that anyone saw it — or how Nate was. Even years after knowing Dietrich, interacting with him, his Occlumency-trained mask of indifference was ever-present; I just knew how to read the minute twitches of his slate eyes, the height of his brows, the tension in his jaw and shoulders.

He was angry when he came to me last year, when he knew about Tom Riddle’s ability to steal a soul though probably not his Horcrux nature.

He was _furious_ now, standing at my curtains with his ash hair disheveled and uniform as messy as Harper’s.

“Dietrich?”

My voice sounded meek, which annoyed me, but I felt a jolt of fear, hearing the halting screeching in his magical core’s song, which was normally so steady and stringy and deep, even if I didn’t usually listen. 

“Guinevere.”

His voice was as flat and emotionless as it was when we’d first begun to speak.

I felt a pang in my heart at the formal address.

“Dietrich,” I said cautiously, “What… What’s wrong?”

“That,” he said, his accent’s strength betraying the frustration he was surely hiding, “is what I have been wondering for five months.”

It felt like something was shriveling up in my stomach. “Dietrich-”

He held up a hand, quieting me. It was something I did when I acted as _parvus potesta._ I noticed he’d been picking it up, holding court for me when I was too exhausted to. If I weren’t sure that he was too emotional to notice, I might’ve seen it as a slight or a challenge.

“I had assumed,” he started quietly, taking a step or two in my direction but no further, “that my… constant pestering was… infringing. You have always been extremely independent. After… Well, I did not want you to think I did not trust you. I did not want to… nag, is the word. I believed if you needed help, you would come to me, your Second. I believed… I believed that.”

My fingers twitched, gripping my bedsheets. My eyes ached and my wounds burned in the moonlight, but a faint sheen of gold encased my vision, and it was through channeling magic more carefully into the invisible rune circles painting on my hands that the golden glow faded. I could See in the dark, and I could see Dietrich’s colors.

I almost cried at the sight of it.

His cobalt-byzantine and steel-blues were curling in on themselves, opaque and lethargic. The edges looked burnt and wilted, strings of silver and deep teal tightening on the clouds of color. A high, keening note interrupted his already stilted song. I could not translate the sight of a magical core into true emotion, but I would… I saw the hurt. I saw the exhaustion.

Dietrich’s magic, always forming into neat shapes and blanketing over the magic of those he considered under his protection, under _our_ protection, was _wounded_. And I knew, _I knew_ , it was my doing.

“You’re Seeing my magic, aren’t you,” he said flatly.

“I didn’t want this.” I choked out.

His magic exploded into action, and I tasted it in the air, felt it press down around us. His eyes were blazing.

(Dietrich’s anger always did run hot.)

“I _begged_ you, last year, to trust me! I _begged_ you to let me _help you!_ You promised you would! You promised that, next time, I would be BESIDE YOU! You call me your Second, and yet- And yet-”

Oh god, I was going to cry.

“No, that’s not-”

Dietrich sucked in a breath, looking flustered and hurt and angry. His frame went stiff again, magic reeling in; he was Occluding. _He was hiding from me._

“If… If I did something wrong- No. Not even that. If I am not enough for… for a Second, for _your_ Second, I understand.” Dietrich forced out, voice too-calm and eyes trained in a spot to the right of me, “I do not… I proved to be a burden last year, I proved unable to remain calm and unable to defend myself, and that is- that is why you chose to keep me in the dark this year. I am- I would have only wished that you had _told me_. The false hope- I thought-” He met my eyes, finally. “I thought I was your best friend. I thought that… I thought that was what a Second was, to you.”

My left eye couldn’t cry, it seemed. Or, rather, the bandages were soaking it up. It felt like I was bleeding, inside and out. I wanted to reach out to Dietrich and hug him, even though hugs made him confused and awkward.

“D-Don’t say that,” I got out, voice thick and wavering, “Don’t- You’re not a burden. Y-You’re my best friend, Dietrich — you _are._ I made you my Second because I trusted you, I made you hold Slytherin for me because I knew you could-”

His magic flared again, faster and more violently than before.

“Then why did you LIE? Why am I treated like a _glass decoration?! Je ne suis pas du verre!_ You cannot coddle me when you say I am your equal! You cannot call me important and then ignore! _Pourquoi ne suffis-je pas?!_ You cannot say one thing and mean the other, Lys, you cannot _do that,_ I do not understand _why you do this_ \- 

“I am your _Second_ , you said I was your _Second_ , _tu es juste une menteuse,_ why was I the one most surprised when we heard you were _bleeding to death_ in the Hospital Wing _AGAIN?_ Why was _Nathaniel_ completely aware, why did Julius and Lucas both suspect- _Cela est arrivé à nouveau, j'étais à nouveau seul-_ Why was I the _only one_ who didn’t know what was going on, who was playing with Slytherin while _you were out_ ** _risking your life again-_** I wasn’t even- I-” 

Dietrich paused, frazzled and closer to me than I realized and so tightly-coiled he seemed fit to burst. He took a breath. It was like watching a fight with himself that he just couldn’t seem to win. It was like seeing him lose every time he spoke.

“And this is just me. This is just… I am angry that you hid everything from me, but- but do you know… Do you even care… Harper was crying again. He came with me, to see you on a full moon, and we heard you **_screaming_** , _Mon_ _Dieu, je n'oublierai jamais les cris,_ and- Julius thinks he should have stopped you, Lucas is the same, and Nathaniel is as smug and infuriating as ever, but- but- Lys. You _used_ him. Whatever you did involved his work and it does not… We are Slytherin, we use others, but you cannot call us _friends_ and then treat us like _tools_. You _cannot. Je pensais que tu étais différente._ Do you… Do you even care about the rest of us?”

My heart stuttered.

I felt light-headed, mind blanking.

_Did… I… even… care?_

My control over my magic was impressive, especially taking into account how much there was and how unruly it was, threaded through with Seer magic and still growing. The last time I went accidental was when Pandora Lovegood died. That was the first and last time I’d ever lost control out of anger. I’d promised never again.

I heard glass crack. Spider-thin shadows carved themselves into the moonlight.

I broke that promise.

 

**…**

 

But one thing I had never done and didn’t ever intend to do was hurt someone else if I went accidental. The core of me was a protector; an obsessive, incompetent, neurotic protector, but a protector nonetheless. I did not hurt mine. My soul wouldn’t allow it.

As soon as I registered a flicker of fear, my head cleared and silvery-gold strings shot out, wrapping around clouds of indigo and deep blue and teals and orange and dark, coiling crimson; they wove into a net, holding my roaring magic back, keeping it from sinking into more shatterables and attacking with all the energy my anger gave it.

But that left me with a lot of anger and no outlet for it.

“How _dare_ you say that to me.”

Dietrich’s sliver of fear melted away in an instant, leaving behind the fury he’d been nursing. “We are treated as tools. While we take care of Slytherin and homework and paltry things such as that, _you_ turn to others when you are truly in danger! What else should we think? You were _lying_ to us! You _used us!”_

It felt like there was a ball of molten iron in my stomach, weight pressing down on my chest.

“Everything I have _ever done,_ it has always been to protect _mine!”_

“So I suppose we do not count, then, when it is your Gryffindors — Granger, Potter — who were helping you when the _werewolf_ split your face in _two?”_ Dietrich sneered.

“It didn’t involve you.” I said tightly.

“ _We_ are supposed to be the ones closest to you. _We_ are supposed to be your most trusted.” His eyes flashed, face falling into that blank mask again. “Or so you led us to believe. At least do us the courtesy of correcting our thinking, _Guinevere_.”

I never realized how mocking a name could be. How grating the syllables would sound.

I snarled. “ _That was not my intention._ Stop putting words in my mouth!”

“What else am I to do, when you do not _speak to me?_ I was the _only one_ who was surprised when Professor Snape took us aside, I was the _only one_ who didn’t know — and I am the _only one_ who is your Second! Your best friend, _le plus fiable_ , that is what you said, and I waited for **_five months_ ** for you to explain why you would not _sleep_ , why you became _obsessed_ with _yet_ ** _ANOTHER_** **_BOOK_** , and at the end of it all, I am BLINDSIDED by my failure to act as Second? _Pourquoi tu ne m'as pas dit?!_ I FAILED, when you assured me I was succeeding?”

My voice was harsh and low. “ _I couldn’t tell you.”_

“THEN TELL ME NOW!” he roared.

Always the reactive person, I screamed back. “IT’S NOT THAT EASY!”

“No, it _is,”_ Dietrich hissed, “You just choose not to. You just can’t stand the _thought_ of telling someone _you don’t trust at all.”_

Don’t trust at all.

_Do I even care?_

Using them.

Liar.

_Do I even care?_

Choose not to.

Led them to believe.

_My friend._

They don’t count?

_Do I even care?_

They don’t count.

_You’re one of me and mine._

Liar.

Don’t trust at all.

_Do I even care._

The glass cracked again, and I felt something snap inside.

“Do I even care.” I said softly. I chuckled — everything was so ridiculous that _I couldn’t._ I looked at Dietrich and felt the moment my nails broke skin and buried their blunt points deep in my palms. “You wanted to know, Dietrich? Fine. I’ll tell you, _my friend._ ”

I ignored the way he flinched, the shock stark on his face, the regret in his eyes.

_I didn’t care_ , after all.

“Let me tell you a story, _my friend._ I don’t suppose you know this,” my voice stated calmly, curiously, “but the House of Weasley and the House of Prewett have an odd history of radical ideology and unyielding power. The Prewetts were often extremely magically powerful, lots of Soothsayers born to them. The Weasleys were similar, but instead of sprinklings of Soothsayers, they had a Clairvoyant every now and then.”

Information I gathered and painstakingly learned from the beginning chapters of _Sollertia Augurium._ Bits and pieces Alby taught me, augmented by my own obsessive research — all those years ago — into my bloodline, my presence in this world.

Things my parents were too afraid to bring up, trying to keep my visions away.

How beloved I was.

(My mind felt foggy and numb and on the precipice of something. I was so angry that I couldn’t even feel it anymore.)

“The brain of a human infant is not developed. A baby cannot even smile until they are a few weeks old, did you know that, Dietrich? But magic can supply the rest. When Seers are born, their magic can act as a sort of secondary mind, so visions can be processed, so the Seer grows up with their ability. It’s why Seers are so skilled at the Mind Arts; our bodies adapt to that magic, our minds are streamlined for protecting and taking knowledge that shouldn’t be ours. But it comes with a price, you know.

“Why do you think Prophesiers are so crazy? The Prophet of Delphi. Cassandra. It isn’t right, to See things when your mind is so new. There’s as few Empaths as there are Clairvoyants, and do you know why? They kill themselves more often than not. They can’t take all the emotions they feel. Assessors, too. Ancient ones picked up swords and could See every death that blade caused, every throat cut, every bit of flesh shredded. I’m no expert on other branches of Seer magic, of course… But I was tutored by Albus Dumbledore, and having experienced this firsthand, I understand more than one would think.”

Dietrich was pale, waxy in the moonlight. He looked like a ghost in the dark. “…You’re a Seer.”

I smiled, and it was not kind. 

I didn’t _care._

(If only I didn’t care.)

“Seer-Clairvoyant. I have dreamed of death and war since I was born, Dietrich. The more I loved my father, the more I Saw the way his House was torn to pieces. The more I adored my mother, the better I Saw the way she screamed when she found what remained of my uncles, Fabian and Gideon. The more my brothers carried me, the more Ginny made me smile, the more I feared for their lives, and the more I Saw the way they all die.” The smile faded. I felt anger, rushing through me like fire, horror and recklessness and grief and _rage_ , blending into my head and making everything shake and float. “Fate has held my family in her grasp for as long as I can remember, and I have _wept_ and **_bled_** , fighting to pull them out. I have shaped my _entire existence_ around protecting them, because without them to have told me it was going to be alright at night, without them to have reminded me of reality, _I would’ve gone Mad long ago._

“You have no idea… You have _no_ ** _fucking_** _clue_ what lengths I would go to, have gone, to make sure my brothers and sister and parents don’t become the corpses I dream of every night. You have _no idea_ what I’ve felt, the **_only_** people that matter in the _entire world_ being held hostage in front of me. I don’t care?” I laughed. “I do _nothing_ but care. I am **_nothing_** if I do not care. I promised myself, years ago, that I wouldn’t let Fate have them. I wouldn’t give anyone to her. _They’re mine._ I don’t call them mine because I trust them to protect me, to help me. _I call people_ ** _mine_** _because, they_ ** _are_** _. They belong_ ** _to me._** _FATE CAN’T_ ** _HAVE THEM_** _._ I’ll die to keep them alive. I’ll _die_ to keep Fate from having _what belongs to_ ** _me_** _._ ”

I straightened, meeting Dietrich’s gaze, not allowing him to look away. I was numb and prickling and in pain and I couldn’t read his expression right now. I couldn’t think. 

“You were a tool,” I said coldly, “You and the others were tools I needed in Slytherin, to give me power. Power I needed to keep mine safe, to keep me safe so I could keep _protecting them._ ” My voice softened. “And then… And then there was the way you always tried to steal me notes, and the faces you made when I messed up in Potions, and the secret way to the Kitchens, and how you copied my writing, and how… and how you smiled without smiling and scolded like my mother.

“And there was Harper, who was so unthinking and careless, but always so earnest — too earnest for Slytherin — and how easily he was manipulated and how offended he got when he realized and how excited he was by getting a spell right after you taught him. And Jay, kind and afraid, organizing our books and smiling to himself when I braided his hair and getting annoyed when Harper disorganized his homework. Lu, stubborn and impulsive like a Gryffindor, cruel when he knows no one’s looking, proud and unapologetic and always looking at the sky, straining when he’s being scolded and bragging when he does something right. Even- Even Nate, all sneaky and sly and definitely bullying the Ravenclaws, trying to act older than he is or understands, teasing and making fun and terrified of- of being part of us.”

My anger had burnt out. And part of me was panicking, screaming at me to Stun Dietrich immediately and wipe his fucking memory _now._ The other was deeply, suddenly hurting, missing my boys around me and remembering how worried they all were — in their own ways. 

How Jay and Lu asked after me, how Harper trudged on and made an effort to sit near me to make me laugh even if he didn’t know what was going on. How hard Nate worked, how he never asked but was always curious, how Dietrich didn’t know anything because _I know_ he’d been in the abandoned classroom, polishing his dueling skills and studying practical spells _just in case_ something like Tom Riddle happened again. I missed them all terribly, so much that I ached, and I hated myself for never being able to balance all the things important to me.

I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of them, the ones who anchored me down in Slytherin. My family kept me sane, they kept me grounded with proper morals and bloodtraitor ideology and constant support, unquestionable security, unnamed _forever._

But my boys, my friends, Luna and the Golden Trio, they were the ones I _chose_ , strangers that represented the things I loved the most, the things I treasured the most: loyalty and fun and independence and strength and balance and reckless nobility and stubborn optimism and quiet observance and sharp wit.

“You were all _supposed_ to be tools.” I gasped, “But I’ve always- You know I’ve always had a problem, getting attached to things and people I shouldn’t. I thought- I thought I deserved it, I thought I deserved having friends who were _just mine_ , and then… And then the Chamber happened, and I realized… I realized that- I just-” 

I felt the tears down my face again. I couldn’t stop them.

“You weren’t supposed to be able to be used against me, too. I didn’t- want- you used against me, too. I can’t-” I was sobbing, hiccups interrupting my words, and I felt embarrassed for it and for this outburst, but I was already almost finished, so I couldn’t very well stop now. “-I can’t See your bodies, too. I can’t- I won’t- You were supposed to be _safe._ I- d-don’t- want to see- th-the- the way y-your- your bodies look when- if- I-I-I don’t- I don’t want to wake up and- and not know if you’re alive- or- not…”

Dietrich’s blank mask was gone, and I barely noticed it. In its place was an expression of stricken horror, of confusion and regret and near-tears, and-

And then he turned and fled, only a fluttering curtain and this weight in my chest left in his wake.

 

**…**

 

_What have I done?_

Soft white light had brightened and mellowed into early morning, my face no longer throbbing from moonlight but slowly pulsing with general discomfort. There were drops of red as dark as Tom Riddle’s colors splattered on the white blankets and sheets and sleeves, dried and sporadic, and my palms were practically scabbed over. I only vaguely noticed these things, though. My head was too full and empty for me to do anything else, even sleep.

_What have I_ ** _done?_**

…I’d just given Dietrich everything he could ever use against me. I’d just given Dietrich _a reason_ to use it against me. I’d lost my shit and now he knew what I was, what I could do, and he probably hated me now.

It was- It was one thing for some distant friend to have Clairvoyance, your best mate’s little sister who you talked to every so often, or that girl in Slytherin you tend to like but don’t know all too well. Harry and Hermione weren’t pissed at all, it seemed, and they had Ron to turn to for answers; they had a barrier to jumping to conclusions, they were older and experienced in life or death situations, those two weren’t my _best friends._ It was one thing for knowing a Clairvoyance when you yourself had Seer blood, when you were accepting of everything and always in your own head anyways. Luna knowing about me was safe, Luna took things as they came and never anything less, never much more. It was one thing for your little sibling to have it, for you to have listened to her cry and scream in her sleep, for your sleeves to be torn near to bits with how she’d hold onto you out of fear that you’d disappear. My brothers and sister… They’d known, they’d understood, they’d… they’d…

They would never think I manipulated them because I thought it’d be a laugh.

None of them would think I was abusing my Sight for anything but making sure they were alright.

None of them were people I’d call tools.

_I called Dietrich and the rest my tools._

What.

What was _wrong_ with me?

_Why did I do that?_

I might as well have given Dietrich a loaded gun and pointed it at my temple, telling him it was up to him when he’d like to pull the trigger. Or, as it was, I might as well have given him my wand and closed my eyes. 

I didn’t know which was the worst part: giving him my secret or losing yet another one of mine.

It hurt enough when Tom died. It was still hurting. It hurt in spasms; I could be looking at a _quill_ and then suddenly I’d miss my friend, I’d feel my chest ache with _could have been’_ s and _if only I had’_ s and all sorts of complicated, messy things. Tom had _barely_ been one of mine, Tom had been a surprise and a mistake and then he was suddenly gone.

What was I going to do when it was Dietrich, _my best friend,_ who was disappearing?

How much would it hurt then?

How-

“Oh, this won’t do at all. You’re _drowning_ in nargles!”

Once again, I snapped to attention.

Luna with her pale coloring and penchant for sitting back to watch, it seemed like she would blend in with the curtains, but she stood out in a cloud of silver and lavender and pale, pale minty green. My Mage Sight had turned on and I hadn’t even realized it.

She smiled wistfully — all her smiles were wistful — and drifted towards me. Madam Pomfrey’s face disappeared back behind the curtains with a nod and a quiet ‘hmph’. I wondered if she’d been worried for a split second, before Luna sitting down on the edge of my beside, facing me, distracted me from that line of thought. Luna reached out easily and plucked my hand into hers, easily and comfortably.

I opened my mouth to speak but she gave me a blank look, and I quieted, letting her look at the palms of my hands, the tan of my skin, the stray spots and freckles. Then she shook her head, tutting, and bowed her head to get her necklace of twine and corks and smooth pieces of bottle glass, the pieces we used to pick out of the Muggle fields to take home and hang up in sunny windows. She shook it out gently, letting the pieces of the necklace jingle together, and then plopped it around my neck with no further ado.

“You already look much better. This will make sure the rest will go off somewhere else!” Luna said in a scolding tone, “I told you that you should stop taking other people’s nargles, Guinevere. Now look at you! You hardly have any fairiefiddle in you. It’ll come back, but you mustn’t trust that. Snakes don’t trust much.”

There was something comforting about riddles in this new life of mine.

Well. Not so new as it was. But still. Before, I didn’t care much for them. Too straight-forward for it, too tired for it. This life, though, I grew up with magic strangling my mind and dreams, with the demon twins and their tricks, with Luna who used symbols to say everything, and now in Slytherin, where there were seven different meanings to every word. Riddles were comforting, and I felt myself draw up in strength for it.

Trickery was a reminder of how to be strong, after all. Or rather, that I had to be.

Leave it to Luna to know this.

“Snakes don’t trust much, but I did. I told my lieutenant the easiest way to lock a fairiefiddle in a cage, and I was bitter and thoughtless enough to give him a reason to do it. I left him behind and he was angry, and when he told me so, I called him _a tool_.” I spat the last words, remembering that embarrassing scene from last night and hating the ache that rose up in response to it.

Luna poked at one of the corks resting on my collarbone. “It’s not working right. You’re going to break it like this, Guinevere.”

That startled a laugh out of me. Luna never really _pouted_ , but here was the closest thing.

She touched my bandages, but my face couldn’t feel it. Her expression went sad.

“They love you and they’re hurt because they don’t think you love them back,” was what Luna said.

I flinched. “I do.”

She shook her head. “Not everyone knows like I know. Not everyone sees like you See. They try because they admire you and you think they can because they act like it, but you’re so much older than all of us, Guinevere. The visions made you that way.”

“I don’t want any of you hurt. If any of you got hurt, what would be _the point-_ ”

_What would be the point of all my sacrifices? What would be the point of_ me?

Luna doesn’t need to hear these things, and I don’t quite think she hears exactly how my thoughts go, but it’s close enough. Her expression is gentle and her silvery-blue eyes are razor-sharp for once.

“You hurt when they do. They want to do the same.”

A flicker of annoyance, a shadow of what it was last night, crossed me. “You think I don’t know what people say about me, Luna? What people _think?_ It’s not- It’s not _normal_ for a twelve-year-old to be willing to kill and die for her friends. It’s not _normal_ to love people the way I do. I’m possessive and manipulative and selfish and I love exactly like that. It’s not _normal._ I don’t want them to be _anything_ like me.”

Luna smiled. “That’s not your choice.”

“ _Everything_ is my choice.”

She let out a soft, amused breath. Her fingers were still on my blood-crusted, bandaged cheek. “I suppose it is. But it’s too late, now, Guinevere. You can't rewind, you're not an hourglass fairy. There's no sand in your steps. Not that the nargles are helping you see that. What are you going to do now? You've got to paint your colors again, and maybe that will make it better, but first you have to pick up the brush.”

I sighed. All the things Luna told me, I knew. Somewhere, I knew. My boys were not supposed to be in Fate’s crosshairs. They were supposed to live unremarkable lives. And then I entered the picture and I _changed_ that. They took a bit more of my colors than I took theirs, because they were truly young and I was just remembering how to be. They were more moldable than I was. They had more paths open to them than I did.

And I changed that. Fate’s chosen Seer, her friends, they were going to have a little touch of Fate on them as well. Whatever paths they had, I destroyed those. They gave me friendship and trust and I filled them with the vicious, single-minded loyalty that was the only thing driving me, now. Accidentally, yes, but I’d done it, and there was really no point wallowing.

Ergh. I spent an _entire night_ wallowing. Fucking hell, I’d hoped I was smarter than this by now.

And… And the other thing.

They were… Well, Dietrich was pissed because I was keeping him out of the loop. He’d not known why, so I told him, but that was me ranting. If I’d- If I’d really cared, I wouldn’t have avoided Dietrich, thought of him as an obstacle. I would’ve told him in no uncertain terms. Made something up. I avoided the problem and then it blew up in my face. I was a coward, that way. I wanted things to stay the same; I wanted him to trust me as I lied to him and made him think that I never would.

I treated him as, well, maybe not a _tool_ , but… but not as the Second I called him. He was right about that. And it wasn’t my fault, and it certainly wasn’t _his fault,_ that I couldn’t, but. He didn’t see it that way until I oh-so-helpfully _enlightened_ him.

Goddamn idiot. I expected my boys to play to my tune but I got pissed when they acted out. And that was an over-exaggeration, but it was just about the right shade of this problem. I had to be prepared for this. I couldn’t just… wallow. _They love you and they’re hurt because they don’t think you love them back,_ is what Luna said. Well I certainly hadn’t acted like they were my true and equal friends, even if I did love them all dearly.

Maybe… Maybe Dietrich didn’t get that? Or hadn’t thought of it. Before I blew up at him. I’d… I’d have to make that clear. Apparently it got lost in translation, somewhere down the road. I wanted them to understand. But before that…

I squared my shoulders. “Right. Well. This still doesn’t change the fact that I shot myself in the foot.”

Luna blinked at me.

I sighed. Dammit. “I paved the path to my own destruction.” I winced, thinking over what I’d said last night, with a clearer mind. Somehow, while Luna was speaking, I’d started breathing evenly, to the beat of my magic. Half-Occluding. “Oh Merlin, Luna… You should’ve heard the shit I said to Dietrich last night, shit, he probably thinks I’m a bloody _monster_ -”

Luna brought her other hand up to my face. I felt a little flummoxed; Luna normally didn’t have to do this. She was floaty. She didn’t ground people, me — she helped me escape. But here she was, eyes trained on mine and calming me down because I needed it.

“You’re so very infected with nargles, I’m afraid of Loser’s Lurgy being brought about.”

Ah, but she more than made up for this odd clarity with her riddles. All was well in the world.

She said firmly, more than I would’ve expected from her, “Do you think your grey wolf will betray you?”

“I don’t trust anything. I’m a snake.” I said stubbornly.

Luna brought her hands down and poked at the corks on my chest. “They’re not working properly, Guinevere, I really do think you broke these. Otherwise you wouldn’t be saying silly things.”

“It’s not silly,” I muttered, feeling tired all of a sudden, “I’m not vulnerable like this to anyone but you and my family. And… Well, now Harry and Hermione, too, but we all know Harry owes me and Hermione wouldn’t dare. They’re both too good.”

“And the grey lieutenant isn’t?”

“No!” I near-shouted, “Dietrich’s the best of them!”

Luna raised her brows even higher than they already were. “Then don’t worry, silly. Wolves are the loyalest creatures of them all. Yours just happens to be covered in wrackspurts and it’ll take him a little bit to shake them off. You really did have to pick the ones the nargles and wrackspurts all love, didn’t you?”

Despite myself, I felt defensive of my boys. “They’re all the best.”

Luna giggled. “Then don’t worry so much! Just wait and see. You chose them for a reason, you know. And they chose you back. That’s what counts. Red snakes and golden queens and fox tricks and heartache don’t matter so much when you brush the wrackspurts away. That’s a choice, too, though. You have to choose to get them away.”

“When did you get so wise?” I asked wryly.

Her face was serene, hands in her lap now. The picture of lovely posture. “Don’t you know, Guinevere? Everyone calls me Looney.”

(I felt my face twitch. Looks like all my pent-up aggression, nearly-spent anger, and utter fear at this situation could be channeled, after all. It would sure make me feel better, planning out something to make the Ravenclaws cry.)

(Luna laughed breathlessly at my expression, surely knowing what I was thinking.)

 

**…**

 

_“Putains de détraqueurs.”_

I sat back, feeling much cleaner and much more yelled at after Madam Pomfrey’s visit, half an hour or two ago. Luna had laughed at me, the traitor. And Madam Pomfrey seemed relieved at my snarking back to her, even as she roared at the state of my everything.

My heart thundered in my chest even as my face was impassive. “There was a swear word in there, but I don’t know the other one.”

Dietrich did not sit, and his eyes didn’t meet mine. Not that I’d know, really, because I was the one looking at a spot over his head.

“Fucking dementors,” he said quietly, “is what that means.”

“Ah.”

He took a step forward. “If I had all the world’s fears in my head, I do not think I would be half as well as you were, when they came near.”

I crossed my arms. Resisted the urge to hug myself. My vision was blurring with tears despite everything and I knew what I looked like when I was about to cry and knew Dietrich could see it. Fuck, I thought I was ready, but Luna had only left an _hour ago_ and I really, really wasn’t actually ready-

“I’m-”

“You were wrong,” Dietrich interrupted.

I blinked at him. He took another step forward, inching his way to me.

“You were wrong,” he repeated quietly, “to trick your way around me. To let me busy myself and go behind my back. But… But I cannot say that I would not have pushed, if you’d told me that your business was private, that you could not bring me. I cannot say that I was not eager to prove myself to you after my mistake last year.”

“ _My_ mistake, you mean-”

“We both made mistakes. You let your guard down with the soul-stealer. As did I. It should not have happened and yet it did. And then this year as well. You have treated me like glass, gone behind my back, and I have shadowed your every step, questioned your every move. We did not act as leader and Second, this past half-year, and my fixation on that is perhaps what led to my… outburst, last night.” 

He was another step closer. At the foot of the bed, or just past. I resisted the urge to slip into Mage Sight and look. This didn’t feel like the time.

“I had forgotten,” Dietrich said softly, “in my anger, that before I was your Second, I was simply your friend. I had forgotten that… that to mind you was not the same as to support you. That trust was not the same as affection. I had forgotten. And for me to disparage your choice as a leader and connect that to your love for me, and all our friends… that was foolish.”

“I chose to leave you out of it because you’re all my friends,” I said quietly, “Make no mistake about that.”

Dietrich looked down. “Yes. But I told you that you did not care for us when you did. A leader would have used us to her advantage. A friend would have agonized over it and kept us away. A stupid friend, perhaps, but it is no less true.”

I cracked a smile at that. Dietrich was close enough to touch my hand, were it laid out.

“You did not leave us behind because you did not trust us.”

I gave a nod. “Yes.”

Dietrich didn’t move. “You did not leave me because- I did… I… failed.”

“No-”

Dietrich narrowed his eyes. “I did not fail in your eyes. But I _have_ failed. It just… is different now.”

“Yes, but-”

“You left us because you were afraid.”

“Yes.”

“You have been afraid for a long, long time.”

“…Yes.”

He was quiet. Then he took a breath.

“…I’m sorry, Lys.”

His voice cracked, and I couldn’t take it anymore.

I don’t know who moved first: me, opening my arms up and reaching, or Dietrich dashing towards me and clamping his hands around my ribs. Whichever it was, I had my arms wrapped around Dietrich’s neck, face buried into the crook of his shoulder, and he was half-kneeling on my bed, slouched over and likely entirely uncomfortable but unrelenting in holding me.

One would think… One would think this would be like me and Mum’s desperate hug, talking over each other and crying. But that wasn’t what happened.

It was just me holding onto Dietrich for dear life and him doing the same, voice muffled but sentences full.

(And if Dietrich’s accent was bordering on my inability to understand it, well. It was only bordering.)

“I’m sorry I did not know.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you.”

“You know I would never betray your secret like this.”

“I didn’t know — I’ve been afraid so long. It’s been a secret _so long._ ”

“I’m sorry you were afraid. I’m sorry I made it worse.”

“So am I, but I’m not, too. I just wanted to keep you safe. The Chamber was _my fault_ , Dietrich, don’t you understand that?”

“It wasn’t.”

“You weren't Fated to be taken. It was supposed to be Ginny and then it was you and Malfoy, instead. I couldn’t let that happen again. I can’t. I can’t See you die. If you were going to hate me for it, I thought it’d be okay-”

“I do not hate you.”

“Please don’t hate me.”

“I won’t. I understand now. I am… I am sorry I ran away. I did not know how else to process it, but alone.”

“I thought you might turn me in.”

“Your _excuse dégoûtante d'un ministre_ will hear nothing from me. I am sorry you thought I might tell. I am sorry, Lys, I didn’t mean to- to look down upon your suffering. I did not know. And I do not blame you for the secret, but please- please don’t do it again.”

“What again?”

“Secrets. If I have to allow you into my head to make it fair, I will, but no more.”

“I don’t want to expose you like that.”

“But if it will make you feel safe, then I’ll allow it.”

“Even _I’d_ never let anyone look in my head. Stop copying my creepy loyalty.”

“It is no copy. I am loyal to you _for my sake._ Stupid, stupid girl, do you not know what I was before you? You saved my life, Lys.”

“Hardly.”

“I was miserable and you made me happy. I am loyal because of that.”

“You’re going to suffer. To be a Seer is to suffer and if you want to share that, you’re going to hurt. I don’t want that.”

“As if I care. You are the _soeur de mon coeur,_ and unlike your brothers, I chose you.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Sister of my heart.”

I tightened my hold on Dietrich. “That’s a lifetime commitment, do you hear me? You know everything about me and you want to be my brother. Second for life. Do you understand how terrible this could all go?”

Dietrich pulled away, taking me by the shoulders. His eyes were full of tears, but he wasn’t letting them fall. I failed in that regard, but we met eyes anyways.

“I know how it will go,” he said, accent lightening, regaining a bit more control, “I will be better. I will not obsess so much on protocol. I will not blind myself with obsession. _Que c'est embarrassant…_ And you will do better, too. You and I will work something out to tell the others. And as you prepare for whatever is coming, I can only assume bad, I will be there as well. Yes, to argue, but also to support. No more interrogation, no more secrets, no more- no more fear. Not you and not me. We will do what we must, because your interests are mine. And if I should have any interests arise, they will be yours. I know you. And- And it is not because I owe you, or you owe me, but because you are _my friend_ and _I chose this_ knowing it might end badly. _Mes yeux sont grands ouverts maintenant._ Perhaps I will die, but I expect you to carry on for me. Perhaps you will die, and I shall do the same. Or, more likely, we shall suffer Fate together and at least lean on one another for it. That is what will happen. Do you hear _me_ , Lys?”

I sniffled. Valiantly resisted saying something stupid, like, _You’re not even French, Dietrich._

Sometimes emotional things just had to be emotional. No matter how I disliked it.

I was learning that, with all these people visiting me this week.

“I hear you.” I said.

Dietrich’s lips stretched into a smile, faint but real.

“Then… I suppose it would do for you to tell me everything.”

I wiped my face clumsily. “After you hear about this bullshit, there’s no take-backs. Especially after your fancy speech.”

He snorted, sitting back and folding his hands. Pretending he didn’t just hug me and almost cry and wax eloquent. Occlumency-strict bastard. If he weren’t built so solidly with his heavy, grey eyes and his dark, thick brows, I’d call his perfect fucking hair and skin Malfoy-ish.

…He was my family now, wasn’t he? He said so.

So it was okay to tug at his sleeve for something to hold. Dietrich didn’t even raise a brow at it, so I relaxed.

“Where do I start? The war that’s going to come, the fact that I felt a werewolf bite because of a bunged up Legilimency ritual this year, or all the stupid things I have to do and _will_ have to do to keep my Clairvoyance a secret while also befriending or comforting the others?” I suggested, trying to keep a lighter outlook for the moment.

Dietrich, to my surprise, threw out another smile. “At the beginning, my friend. _Toujours le début.”_

( _What does that mean,_ I asked Dietrich later.

_Always the beginning,_ he said.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAHHHH! I always forget to post the fanart, I swear. I got some GOOD SHIT from a really cool artist fan! [LOOK AT THIS AWESOMENESS](https://unpleasantpink.tumblr.com/post/178223928829/rose-petal-red-by-nonchalantxfish-on-ao3)!!!!
> 
> Anyways, unpleasantpink and their fan art was key in getting the chapter done because I legit was putting off until I saw this. So. GO CHECK IT OUT!!! Thank you, friend, for the art!!


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hehe... Yeah, sorry I missed last week. But! Here is an extra long chapter and the end of the longest damn arc for you! Just wrapping up some loose ends, likely not all of them, but all the ones that matter to our girl here. :) 
> 
> Bear with me, because I've just started my new job right after I got used to my new schedule, so I might use the opportunity this end of the arc presents to rest up and try and write more in advance... (lol it's never gonna happen, I've tried for almost a full year to get a backlog and it never happens RIP) :D But yeah, probs gonna take a break after this for a bit. Rest my poor brain and get ready for the fourth arc which was, in my old draft, the most intense arc. :)
> 
> Thanks, as always, to readers and commentors, old and new! Y'all keep a writer going!
> 
> Yup! That's all, I think? Enjoy!

 

**…**

 

Madam Pomfrey locked me up for two days and gave me enough potions to practically put me in a coma again. After being worried about my shock, then relieved that Luna snapped me out of it, _then_ pleased to hear Dietrich was told of my Clairvoyance and accepted it wholeheartedly… Well, Madam Pomfrey was _pissed_ that I’d injured my hands and reopened the wounds.

Thus, I woke up two days after Dietrich was kicked out, groggy and the taste of something rancid in my mouth, with my face burning quite a bit less than before.

“When can I take the bandage off?” I asked Madam Pomfrey as she fussed over me.

“Not for weeks, yet, Weasley,” the Healer said, measuring out the very specifically small amounts of potions for me; enough to help, but not enough to cause a negative reaction with the werewolf wounds, that is.

“But… I’m leaving at some point, right? The feast is supposed to be today.”

Madam Pomfrey glared at me. “And you would be attending if you hadn’t clawed your hands open, along with aggravating your extremely deep lacerations, knowing you were anaemic!”

I shrunk down at the might of the Healer. “Sorry.”

She sniffed, handing me a concoction I’d learned to _dread_ , looking disapproving and unsympathetic as I gagged, swallowing it down. “You’ll likely miss the feast, but Albus insisted you ride the train with the rest of the students.”

Setting down the vial, I resisted the urge to beam. “You mean I’m still getting out today?”

“Yes, yes. Your mother and sister have already packed up your things and I do believe Molly took your trunk with her that first time she visited. Your old clothing was thrown out, on account of all the blood… I think your sister has a set of clothes for you, to ride the train.”

“Wait. I’m going straight from bed to the train?”

Madam Pomfrey sniffed again. “If you don’t, you’ll talk and smile your wounds open again, and with how deep they are, I’m certain you’ll make the scars worse if I let you!” She scolded, waving her wand to clear everything from my bedside table. “No more adventures for you, Miss Weasley! It’s a wonder I haven’t been driven back to Firewhiskey because of you and Mister Potter! You will leave when your clothes have been delivered, I will be sending you out along with a letter for your mother about caring for your wounds, and that will be that!”

“I hope I’ve driven you ‘round the bend by the time I’m seventeen, Madam Pomfrey. We could go drinking together!” I called as she left.

She didn’t even turn back. “Have a pleasant, injury-free summer, you headstrong girl!”

I snorted as she left in a huff. Good old Madam Pomfrey.

Turning my head to the side and already bored out of my mind, I blinked at the sight of a large, creamy envelope left on the bedside table. It was Madam Pomfrey’s chicken-scratch handwriting, addressed to my mother.

Opening it — wasn’t even sealed, tut tut, that was practically an invitation — had me looking at helpful charts and What To Do’s in regards to facial lacerations. Particularly _my_ facial lacerations. There were notes on the potions, the amounts needed, all calculated so I could wean off of the pain-killers slowly. Her Floo address was near the end, letting Mum know that if anything untoward happened, give her a call.

I almost grinned at the sight.

A soft POP! noise caught my attention. Folded neatly at the foot of the bed were some clothes — my patched-up jeans, a pair of socks with flying helmets sewn into them, one of Fred’s old T-shirts, and my indigo Weasley jumper — neat and laundered and topped by new Muggle trainers. The laces were rainbow-colored and the pattern was dark and floral; looked like Tilly got to my things, then.

(Looks like Madam Pomfrey was being nice. Or had just given up — either way worked.)

But the best thing, I think, was my wand, sitting in the left shoe, gleaming and familiar. My core gave a pleased, warm thrum when I took the dragon heartstring and elder into my fingers. A quick _Tempus_ told me the feast was just about to start.

“I wish I had my toothbrush, though.” I muttered.

Another POP! and a new one was sitting where my wand had been.

I chuckled. “Thank you, Tilly. I’ll see you next year, luv. Have fun with the feast, okay?”

Then I started to change, wondering if I might find some sort of present for Madam Pomfrey when I went to Knockturn this summer. Merlin knew the woman needed a bloody break, especially since I think I was going to _make it_ my goal to drive her to alcohol one day. Stuff tended to taste worse when you were alone, right?

 

**…**

 

There are certain things about me that’ve changed from last life to this one.

Besides the obvious, of course, I was once a moderate introvert. On the verge of true self-confidence, made friends easier when drunk, submissively polite, cautiously exasperated with the state of things.

Ha! A submissive, lazy introvert would’ve been _crushed_ by Slytherin.

And she certainly wouldn’t be endlessly, _hilariously_ amused by the looks she was getting as she entered the Great Hall, silence brushing through the chattery students with every step she took, every eye she drew.

Must’ve been the bandages. They _did_ cover half my face, after all.

The boys’ faces were especially funny. Dietrich was stoic as usual, his brow ticked up the only sign of surprise, but he looked as amused as I did. Next to him, Harper’s mouth was wide open, eyes round as plates; Lu had a similar look, sandwiched between the more gracefully shocked Nate and Jay. I made a beeline for Dietrich and stood near him, hands in my pockets and mouth threatening to split into a grin. Not even the fact that Gryffindor won the House Cup again — their damn banners were all over the place, honestly — was putting a damper on my mood.

“There any toast?” I asked.

Dietrich had already gone back to eating, not even looking at me now, scooting over to make room for me and pushing a plate heaped with buttery toast to the empty place.

“Oh, thanks-”

“LYSSIE!

I didn’t even get to sit down; Harper leapt up across the _entire table_ and scrambled to hug me. I yelped at the sight of him _barreling over the feast_ to welcome me back, but he latched onto me and nearly knocked me over, and I started snorting in laughter as his happy cry descended into indecipherable babbling.

Which broke the shocked quiet, because all of a sudden Jay and Lu and Nate had swarmed me, and then Adaline Mercer and her two closest friends had drawn near, along with Nicolette Beaumont and Ariadne Lynwood, and I think Silvester Cornfoot had sidled closer, pulling Basilia Carrow and Gertrude Betteridge (from Hufflepuff, and where the hell did she come from?) with him. Lu’s stupid brother was a little closer, too, and so was Josie and her potesta, and all of them were clamoring over one another with as much decorum as they could muster — but not really because the entire Great Hall had exploded with conversation all of a sudden, loud as it usually was, and maybe a little louder, considering the pack of redheads marching over from the Gryffindor table, dragging along a certain Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, and being joined by Luna as they passed Ravenclaw.

“LYS YOU’RE ALIVE!”

“Get off, Harper-”

“Weasley, are you okay?”

“Didn’t know you were getting out today, Weasley!”

“What happened?”

“LYS I WAS SO WORRIED!”

“ _Cher Dieu, je savais que cela arriverait_.”

“Shut up, Dietrich! You’re not even French!”

“I hate you.”

“Weasley, you look a little blue there-”

“Did you really fight Professor Lupin?”

“Did you really get bitten?”

“Are you a werewolf?”

“Lyssie, are you okay?”

“Get off, Harper, you’re killing our _parvus potesta_!”

And then my family and everyone else who knew about Clairvoyance got here and it all _really_ went to hell. Dietrich had warned me, two days ago, that the tensions between Slytherin and Gryffindor were pretty high because I’d gone on a Gryffindor adventure — where only the _Slytherin_ had been injured by a teacher who _favored Gryffindors_. And my boys weren’t helping, seeing as they were pissed at the Golden Trio — and, therefore, all Weasleys — for taking up all the visitation slots in the Hospital Wing. It had probably only gotten worse over my little forced coma stint, via Madam Pomfrey, which probably canceled the rest of the time slots.

Anyways. Point was, without me mediating, Slytherin and Gryffindor were getting hissy with each other.

“Harper, I demand you stop suffocating my little sister!”

“He doesn’t have to listen to you, Head _Prick!”_

Oh crap. Lu wasn’t even _bothering_ to act nice while I was here, that meant he was really irritated at Percy. That descended into unhappy chaos really quickly…

“Don’t aggravate Lyssie’s brother, Lu.”

“What are you Gryffs doing here anyways?”

“That’s my sister, Lynwood, if you’re stupid enough to not have noticed.”

“Maybe I forget that my fellow Slytherin has an uglier older sister because you happen to be so forgettable.”

Wait, since when the fuck did Ariadne Lynwood not get along with Ginny?? Last I remember, all the Slytherin and Gryffindor girls in my year were cooly polite with each other…

I abruptly found myself in one of Fred’s headlocks: gentle, injured-sister edition.

“Hey! Fred, you git!”

“We thought you weren’t getting out of Pomfrey’s ’til the train!” He laughed.

“Heard you put yourself into a coma again, Lyssie.” George added.

I rolled my eye. “That was Madam Pomfrey, because I was yelling at Dietrich so hard my scratches burst open and she decided I’d be safer unconscious.”

It was a joke, but my entire sibling collection turned accusing eyes on Dietrich, who looked vaguely annoyed.

“She did not mean that.” He stated flatly and accurately.

“Yeah, but it _is_ your fault my sister reopened her bloody face! Luna had to yell at you, too! You snakes aren’t the only ones who know how to find things out!” Ginny shouted, getting louder with each word.

I glanced at Percy, who looked just as angry. He definitely told the other siblings after abusing my portrait spy network which, as I was discovering, was not mine at all. It’d be like my sneaky brother, getting all the siblings to rally against a common enemy by using me.

Harper had somehow extracted me from the demon twins, holding my arm to his chest possessively. “You’ve all seen Lyssie already and you’re going to have her for the whole _summer_ to put in danger! It’s our turn with Lys.” He said stubbornly.

Ron twitched, flushing red. “We told you, you damn baby snakes! She’s _our sister_ , why the bloody hell would we get her injured on purpose, one of your parvy-things or not! S’not like any of _you_ were there!”

Nate smirked. “Oh, but if we _had_ been, I imagine Lys wouldn’t have had her face torn open, hm? And I wager we knew more about the situation than you did, prior to your allowing our _parvus potesta_ reigning to be injured by one of your own House members…”

Ah, shit.

Hitting my brother right where it hurts, Nate: Ron’s protective nature being stomped all over by the fact that I was the one who suffered the worst injuries, besides Sirius. Among other things, of course. It was an insult to all of my family, really, and you could tell by the way their ears started reddening and their faces fell flat.

A glance at Dietrich and he nodded.

“Enough,” he announced calmly, a stoic voice in the heightening tension, “Slytherin is better than picking fights at the end of the year. At its feast, even. Sit down. We do not glean information through poorly-hidden interrogation.” He looked at me. “Lys, are you sitting with us or with your family? I do not think it is a good idea to… mix Houses at the moment.”

I nodded, and smiled — maybe a little too proudly, but Dietrich had just _parvus potesta’_ d for me! He was good at it, too! That was _my_ Second! My Slytherins were listening to him, too! A little sheepish, or as much as their pureblood sensibilities could allow, the crowd started to disperse and return to their seats; must’ve been embarrassing, to see us all aflutter, drawing the curiosity of the ‘Claws and the ‘Puffs when we were normally _all_ snorting at whatever spectacle the Gryffs were making.

“I’ll be with you all the entire summer,” I murmured to my Gryffindor family, “Let me end the year with my House, hm?”

Percy looked put off. “You’re hurt…”

I tilted my head to one side. The injured side. “I don’t think there’ll be any dangerous magical creatures hiding under my toast, Perce.”

“But- But what are you going to _tell_ them?” Ron asked, still irritated by Nate’s needling.

Oh. Oh, well. That was cute. They didn’t want me to face interrogation by myself, knowing a lot of my adventures this year were tied to my Clairvoyance. Had… Had Alby or McGonagall or Madam Pomfrey not told them that Dietrich knew? Did my _parents_ know? Ergh.

I grinned, trying to be reassuring. The pull didn’t hurt my wounds too much, but I wouldn’t be able to keep it up.

“I’ve got a good Second on my side, don’t worry. We’ll get it figured out. Go on, the Slytherins aren’t comfortable with this many Gryffs in our territory. Barring the insult, Harper’s right — you can all wrap me in cotton the entire summer, my snakes only have until the train’s dropped us off.”

As I’d hoped, the argument coming from _me_ mollified them slightly. With stern declarations that we’d all be talking later, Percy and Ron gave me hugs and dragged the demon twins away from ruffling my hair too much (not that they were, since they had to be careful not to dislodge any bandages). Ginny shot dirty looks at my boys and particularly Lynwood before she hugged me and grabbed Hermione and Harry, who waved in brief goodbye and looked a little displaced as they did. As I sat, Luna sat down with me, ignoring the speculative looks from my snakes (and Nate’s disgruntlement, on her other side) with every bit of serenity she had. Which was a lot.

I gratefully bit into my buttered toast and knew my boys were waiting for me to at least have a slice before I started talking. The rest of the Great Hall was to its normal, booming volume; but the Slytherin table was subdued, all of the students keeping their ears sharp and conversations simple so they could eavesdrop. Not subtle, but at least they were trying; the _magnus potesta_ reigning were a bit smarter about it, though.

The curiosity was rolling off of my boys in waves. Harper was always fidgety, and Lu more active, but when even _Jay_ was twitching, I knew I had to say _something._

“I know the rumor mill’s been at it, you know,” I said, amused at how their eyes eagerly jumped to my face — Lu and Harper’s gazes kept wandering away from my eye to my bandages, though they tried their best — “Tell me what you all know and I’ll fill in, yes?”

I was surprised when Lu gave me an incredulous, annoyed look.

“Lyssie, we’re not going to interrogate you over your bloody breakfast.” He said.

“She probably already had breakfast, Lu.” Harper piped up.

Lu rolled his eyes. “We’ve gone over this, Harper. Toast is breakfast. Every meal she eats that’s just toast? Breakfast. Doesn’t matter, anyways.” He turned accusing eyes on me. “You really thought we were gonna demand an explanation right this second?”

“We just want to know if you’re alright,” Jay said softly, getting to the heart of the matter (which Lu would’ve danced around for a while, yet), “There were only so many slots for visitation, and your family claimed most of them.”

“I took one,” Luna interrupted dreamily, making most of the boys glance at her in disgruntlement.

“And stupid Dietrich took the last one, and he wouldn’t let us come with!” Harper cried.

“And apparently you yelled at him so hard that your face split open again and Madam Pomfrey canceled the visits we scheduled _after_ Dietrich’s, since she was putting you in a bloody _coma._ What the hell, Lyssie?” Lu said flatly.

I wanted to laugh.

They were all _dying_ of curiosity, but more than that, they wanted to know if I was alright. Slytherins — the nosiest bastards in the school — were putting aside the questions I knew they wanted answered in order to find out if I was okay. Funny that Lu was leading the charge, though… Or maybe not so funny? He had noticed, the night of the first full moon, that something was wrong; he’d noticed I was nervous about it, but there’d been no time for him to actually dig — not that Lu would’ve, as distasteful of emotional confrontation as I was.

God, I loved these boys.

“Facial expressions,” I sighed, “If I smile too much, talk too much, it aggravates the wounds. It’s better now, with two days of healing behind me, but… well, Dietrich and I had a lot to talk about, and it ended up with me reopening two of the scratches.”

“So it _was_ your fault,” Nate drawled, looking at Dietrich lazily.

“Here is an idea, Wilkes,” Dietrich drawled back, “ _Ferme ta gueule._ ”

Harper turned wide, concerned eyes on me. “But you’re healed now?”

Lu smacked the back of his head lightly. “Harper, don’t be stupid. Lyssie was attacked by a _werewolf._ Those wounds don’t heal for weeks! Maybe months. I dunno… they heal as slow as a Muggle.”

“And since when were you a paragon of Healer wisdom?” Nate asked, obviously goading Lu for some reason.

“Since I asked my stupid brother,” Lu replied through gritted teeth.

Harper laughed. “See, Lyssie? Lu must _really_ like you, if he talked to Edward for you!”

I rolled my eye. “My hero.”

“Shut up, Harper!”

“No, shut up, Lyssie! You can’t talk, you’ll never heal and then you’ll only ever have one eye!”

“Shut up, Harper.”

Luna giggled as my boys descended into their usual chaos, simultaneously warding off attempts to eavesdrop and making me feel at home. She grabbed one of my hands, ignoring the crumbs, looking pleased as she swung our hands between us, taking slices of tomato and cheese from Nate’s plate nonchalantly, with Nate apparently ignoring it.

“I told you the grey lieutenant wouldn’t leave.” She sing-songed.

Dietrich on my other side straightened slightly.

“Which is good,” I said quietly, to both of them even if I were only looking at Luna now, “I would’ve been lonely if he hadn’t come back.”

Luna beamed at me. “You still remembered my birthday even though you were off dancing under the moon with the dogfather-man.” She frowned to herself. “Though I suppose he isn’t much of a dog anymore, is he?”

“No, Sirius was bitten to protect m- us. And of course I hadn’t forgotten your birthday… which was months ago.”

She looking at me knowingly, but ignored my slip. Dietrich, who had stiffened, did not. “I started learning how to crochet, that’s why I thought of it,” Luna said pleasantly, “Do you like cheesecake?”

“I don’t hate it.”

“Cheesecake pattern socks, then.”

I pulled my hand from hers and patted her shoulder fondly. “I’ll look forward to it, Luna. Thank you… in advance, I suppose, and for speaking up for me. With Dietrich. I heard you talked to him after you visited me.”

She pouted. “Your lieutenant didn’t want my cork necklace to ward away the nargles so I had to brush them off his shoulders myself! They were filling up his ears with nonsense. But don’t worry, Guinevere, he would’ve shaken them off eventually.”

Dietrich snorted. “I think I am beginning to understand Lovegood.”

“She was always perfectly understandable, you all are just stupid.” I retorted.

“Watch it, _soeur de mon coeur_ ,” grumbled Dietrich half-heartedly, “I have become a very good duelist this past term. I think you will have trouble defeating me now, with how you… danced in the moon, these months.”

“Yes, well, I did get a very nice ally out of it.”

“One who would be bitten by a werewolf for your sake.”

I shrugged. “Mine and Harry’s, I think.” Then I couldn’t resist a grin. “And he’s loaded, so guess who’s buying an international Floo pass and a shit ton of Floo powder to visit her very favorite fake Frenchman~”

Dietrich’s eyes brightened; it was a testament to how excited he was, that he ignored my jab at his nationality. “You will visit _Schwarzvogelschluss?_ ”

I nodded. “Soon as Sirius is free to spoil me.”

My best friend let the smallest of smiles touch at his lips; it made me surprised and giddy to see it. Did this mean Dietrich was going to smile more often? Yay!

“I look forward to the summer, then.” He said.

Nate had reached around Luna to poke at my shoulder before I could reply. He had been eavesdropping, of course. “But before that, we will all be talking on the train, yes? I so do want to know how you put our translations to use.”

Jay, Harper, and Lu had all paused in their own conversation, glancing at me.

Eavesdroppers everywhere.

I gave a solemn nod. “I promise. I’d tell you after the feast, but you all need to pack. So on the train, alright? I’ll tell you what I can.”

“That’s not everything.” Nate pointed out.

I met his gaze steadily. “No, it’s not.”

He stared at me for a while, then nodded shortly. “Alright.”

Dietrich bumped at my shoulder as Nate turned back away to snark at Lu and Harper. I glanced at him, slightly nervous.

“They will understand.” Dietrich murmured. “They _do_ understand, even if they do not like it.”

There was a time I’d fret more, need more convincing. But back then, I hadn’t had all my important secrets aired, and Dietrich didn’t have half a year of _parvus potesta_ leadership experience. There was strength and understanding in my friend’s every line, and it calmed me down considerably. 

“I know they will.” I replied.

“It is good to have you back. If only for a short while.” Dietrich saidwith finality.

I half-grinned. “I’m serious about that Floo pass. Pretty soon, you’re going to be sick of me.”

He snorted. “We have all stuck by you these past two years, Lys. Tired of you… _Je me demande ce qui se passe dans votre esprit, parfois._ That is not going to happen.”

 

**…**

 

My Mage Sight rituals were fading, and my eyes were at the point where everything had a vague outline of color, soft and faded. The end of year feast had only just ended, the sun was still pleasantly high and dipping in and out of fluffy clouds, but the world was rimmed with gold. The effect was hazy and dreamlike, and the lake was so clear and calm that I felt like I was up to my knees in rippling, golden-tinged sky.

A cloud of rose color shifted the water, making the noonday reflect like sunset-time, and I chuckled when one of the Giant Squid’s tentacles popped out of the water and poked at the air around me. I had come down here often enough with Harper to play with him, so the fact that the tentacle probably could’ve crushed me wasn’t too anxiety-inducing. I reached out to pat the slippery, smooth skin gently.

“No Harper this time, sorry,” I murmured, “I just wanted to get away from the staring and the colors for a bit. Calm down before I had to talk to my boys. Say goodbye to Hogwarts. And you, of course, even if I know you like Harper better than me.”

I had to turn my face so the Squid didn’t slap at my bandages and get them wet or open the wounds again, but it clumsily knocked my head around, almost pushing me right the hell over; a bunged-up version of a pat on the head, I think. The Giant Squid was really, worryingly sentient, to be honest. Who the hell had put him in the Black Lake?

…Now my mind was running rampant with images of a baby Giant Squid fighting off Grindylows and merpeople, adventuring in a fresh water lake (somehow), becoming the conquerer of the water. This was why I _wanted the Giant Squid to love me._

(In my head, a wolf snorted, eye half-lidded and lazy, dark fur gleaming in the starlight, chin on crossed paws. Incredulity and amusement. Always watching over me, and him, the both of us. The fireflies glowed all around him, amber flickering in the black grass.)

( ~~ _i’m glad you’re doing well i’m glad you’re okay._ ~~ )

Tendrils of sharper, clearer colors cut through the rose and gold. Violet-purple and faded blue and mauve and deep orange and red twisted together, bold and fierce, and the water rippled. I didn’t look up from scratching the Giant Squid’s tentacle, which it kept pushing at me insistently — kinda like a puppy, y’know? — but I felt someone stop next to me, dark reflection in the water taller and broader than mine.

“Can’t stay out of trouble, can you?” Josie asked, voice brimming with exasperated amusement.

I half-smiled wryly. “I didn’t really expect to get scratched up by a werewolf.”

_I expected to be bitten, actually._

Josie snorted, but she went quiet, and she was patting the Giant Squid as it realized there was a new person to bother. For a moment, it was peaceful and calm. The rose and gold was slashed through with her sharp colors and my indigo was tinged less blue and more red, with the crimson edges blanketing over the water, turning the peaceful image into more of a bleeding sunset. I wondered if, next year, I could visit Alby and we could paint together again, because these were the moments I wished everyone could See the way I did.

“My wedding is in a month.”

Startled, I snapped my face up to look at Josie. Her eyes had a hard edge to them, now, mouth a grim slash. She was still pretty, though; dark hair piled on her head and dark, pureblood features enhanced with golden-toned makeup.

“A month?” I repeated, a little stupidly.

Josie looked at me, searching me for something, and my respect for her rose at _least_ three notches when she didn’t linger on the bandages, imagine what sort of twisted scars would be underneath. She looked a lot less tired and stressed, much more put together this time. N.E.W.T.s had probably done a number on her. I hadn’t really spoken to her since she taught me how to befriend the Giant Squid.

Back then, too. She’d talked about her betrothal, then, too.

“So… you’re going through with it?” I asked, disappointed. And not just because I did have a crush on her — who _wouldn’t?_ — but because Josie was such an amazingly intelligent and driven witch, and she was going to go be a pureblood wife.

“Josephine Properzia Derrick née Zabini,” she said with a chuckle, “Aloysius has already picked out his father’s name for our firstborn son. His mother’s got a hold of some fertility potions or rituals or something like that, told me so herself, like I should be _excited_ about that. How lucky and rare I am, to have access to those kinds of magicks!”

Following the mocking tone, I rolled my eye. “Those rituals aren’t even illegal, how hard could it be to get them?”

Josie lifted a brow, smirking. “Got an interest in _fertility_ rituals, Guinevere?”

I gagged. “Not on your life! But I study rituals, and I know at least _that much_ about them.”

She grinned, wide and threatening. “Oho… I’d think you hardly need them, if you take after your mother, Guinevere. Eight magical children is a rare thing indeed, and all of them full-blood siblings? That’s strong blood, you know, no matter what the Twenty-Eight say.”

I shook my head at Josie’s teasing layered with true compliments. “You’re going to tear Aloysius Derrick apart.”

Her eyes glinted. “Damn straight.”

I looked at her. She looked very... defiant. Confident. Not unhappy. A glance into her colors showed me peace, excitement. Normality. 

“You’re not going to get married in a month.”

She grinned. “Damn straight.”

(Thank Merlin.)

I mirrored her grin perfectly. “Where are you off to, then?

“My aunt’s — Blaise’s mother’s, that is. She knows more than anyone about how to gather power in this society, despite being a woman. I’m taking a different route than her, but she’ll help me nonetheless.”

“And why tell me?”

“Because you are the only friend I have — sad as it is, Weasley — that will _remain_ my friend after I’ve been disowned by my parents and cast from the tree for refusing to marry the idiot,” she replied simply, giving a last few pats to the Giant Squid before nudging it none-to-gently back towards me.

I gave her a flat look. The Giant Squid poked at my shoulder until I started petting him again, the needy little _baby._

She smiled. “I’m not lying. You’re a lucky one, little Guinevere, for finding friends like yours — don’t even care you’re a bloodtraitor, don’t care that you’re as mysterious as a Boggart’s true form, don’t care that your pretty face isn’t so pretty anymore.”

I scoffed. “Nothing’s perfect, so Fate deigned to mar my face before I proved that wrong.”

(There was something about Josie being your friend that made you confident. That was the sort of leader she was, why she rose to power. She inspired confidence in her followers. I was happy that she wasn’t going to waste her potential on pleasing some stupid fucker — because Aloysius _had_ to be stupid, to be related to Peregrine Derrick — and being some delicate, obedient, child-bearing doormat.)

She laughed again. Josie always sounded much nicer when she laughed for real and not to mock someone. “Don’t ever change, Guinevere, you’re _much_ too fun this way. I know Malfoy’s going to take my seat when I’m gone, leaving you uncontested, but please, kick his little arse when you’re a fourth-year.”

I saluted. “Yes, Ma’am.”

We didn’t stay at the lake for long after that, both of us climbing out of the water and chatting pleasantly about different things. Sometimes we looped back to the DMLE, to Josie’s acceptance of her position under Amelia Bones, and I laughed when she told me she’d accepted already and I’d been the first one outside of her family she’d told. Apparently Blaise Zabini was aware and had gone pale with horror at the notion of _living_ with Josie even after she graduated from Hogwarts. We walked back to Hogwarts, two different colored sunsets bathing in gold, with our feet bare and shoes dripping from our hands — there may have been an incident with the Giant Squid trying to drag us back into the lake to play with him even after we’d put our shoes back on — and the barrier that was always present between _magnus_ and _parvus_ leaders seemed broken.

When I’d walked back to Slytherin dorms with Josie, we bumped into Malfoy.

He looked nastily delighted to see me, looking at my bandages especially.

(And if we both paused for too long when we recognized each other, both of us likely thinking of our last conversation, where we’d actually been quite civilized with each other, well… no one had to know that.)

“Why, look at this, it’s the disfigured Weaslette. Finally done hiding your ugly face from the world?”

I smirked, knowing it would throw him off if I didn’t scowl at him. “Well, if _you_ can walk about in public shamelessly, Malfoy, I think I’ll manage quite nicely.”

Parkinson’s face pinched up, and Crabbe and Goyle looked confused. They were trailing behind him, like little ducklings. If looks would kill, Parkinson probably would’ve gutted me by now, really. The other two seemed generally indifferent to most everything, including me.

I gave Malfoy a pitying, maddeningly condescending smile. “Oh. Is this why your insults are so elementary, so that your little henchmen can understand you? You should’ve told me, I’ll have to practice dumbing down my words.”

“Shouldn’t take you much effort, all you’ll have to do is regress.”

“I’m sure you’d know, Malfoy. And as much as I enjoy our time together, I think looking at your face too long might make mine uglier.”

“Hard to imagine,” he sneered, “That might be the ugliest it can get.”

I gave a cold smile. “Have a pleasant summer, Malfoy. Though it’s also a bit hard to imagine anything pleasant when it’s _your_ name involved.”

As we passed by each other, Josie chuckled. She didn’t get to full-blown laughter until we were safe in the dungeons of Hogwarts, nearing the common room.

“Guinevere, you and Malfoy have a _problem._ ” She cackled.

“Don’t I know it.” I muttered, rolling my eyes, “I can only imagine what’ll happen next year when we’ve got both controls under us. Spells’ll be flying like mad, I bet. I better improve my warding...”

Josie snickered. “I can’t wait until you’ve both grown into puberty.”

I made a noise of disgust. “Please don’t make a comment on sexual tension.”

She gave me an innocent look that was obviously fake. “Me?”

I groaned a little. Josie _loved_ teasing me. “I can see it now: every letter you send will ask if me and Malfoy have killed each other or passionately snogged yet. You’ve a sick mind, Josie. A sick, sick mind.”

“ _You_ said it.”

“You were thinking it.”

“And you have a ridiculously mature mind. Dirty jokes at twelve? Merlin me.”

Ah. Right. I’d forgotten, so pleased to be talking to Josie this much and this casually — like actual friends instead of allies — that I was supposed to be twelve. Unconsciously, I matched Josie’s seventeen-year-old mindset, bringing more of that nineteen-year-old part of me out. It always happened with her, but we’d never spoken so long that she’d pick up on it this bluntly. I was a little bit of an idiot, and out of practice with interacting with older people who _weren’t_ my family _or_ under my protection.

We were going to part in the common room, though, so we paused in front of the mirror-portal. The grimy glass blended right in to the oddities in the dungeon levels of Hogwarts, the old Celtic designs of intertwining vines and serpents drawing — as always — the Slytherin eye. We made an odd picture, the dark-skinned, model-like, impeccably-dressed Josephine Zabini side-by-side with the short, contrastingly pale, messy, half-blind Guinevere Weasley.

“You _will_ write, won’t you?” Josie asked casually.

I nodded. “I think _you_ should be writing first, since you’ve actually been doing some work for Amelia Bones already. You’re involved in Sirius Black’s trial, aren’t you? I’ve got a vested interest in that, as you know.”

She chuckled. “Yes, you do, don’t you? If you do me a favor, I’ll quietly spread the Ministry report to the school as we leave. That should clear up the loads of questions you’ll be receiving.”

“And I’ll be less harassed on the train. Alright, sure — what favor?”

Josie put on that vampiric smile she was famous for. “When Sirius Black is cleared, direct him to Nicolosia Zabini.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. “What? No! I’m not going to send my well-earned new godfather to your man-eating aunt!”

She threw her head back and laughed as I panicked at the imagery of Sirius being killed for his fortune. Josie crossed her arms and grinned at me. “Dear Guinevere, you don’t think my aunt’s only income is from her late husbands? She’s a lawyer, Guinevere. She specializes in inheritance, wills, and dueling contracts. Your Sirius Black will have a difficult time figuring out his accounts now that he is the Black Paterfamilias, yes?”

What Josie wasn’t saying was that this was her way of repaying her aunt for taking her in, giving her sanctuary from her parents, who were likely going to disinherit her after she ran from her wedding. This was her way of telling her aunt ‘thank you’, because if Nicolosia Zabini could help Sirius through the legal matters of heirship transition to lordship, then Sirius would pay her back with strong, loyal endorsement; that was something you needed, badly, to stay in business in the pureblood circles. Crazy Sirius might be, but he _was_ Lord Black — or he would be, with Nicolosia Zabini’s help. 

Hm. Well, I had nothing against Nicolosia Zabini, and I very much liked Josie, so…

(Honestly, this showed a very honorable, good side to Josie, one that I knew was there but she didn’t display all too often…)

“I’ll suggest it to him.” I said, “But I don’t know if he’ll listen.”

Josie rolled her eyes, scoffing. “Guinevere, I’ve read the reports. Even if it reeks of a coverup by our beloved Head of House, I don’t doubt that you nursed Black back to health and sanity for all these months. You’ve got the ear of who’s soon to be a very powerful political figure, and I would like to capitalize on that.”

I nodded. It sounded cold, but Josie was business-minded. End-goal oriented. That’s what was admirable about her. “I’ll talk to him, but I don’t control Sirius — he’s my friend. But I’ll do what I can. Look out for him on your end?”

Josie smiled, just a little. “As much as I can, if you’ll really talk to him. The Ministry is going a little insane — Skeeter somehow found out that Black never had a trial, and some other reporter, Flores or other, started digging up the lack of trials from that time. The Ministry’s running around trying to arrange compensation trials and re-trials and, like Black’s case, trials at all…”

I sighed. “Ah. That’s what Mum meant, me throwing a wrench into the Ministerial order.”

“That you did, Guinevere.”

Shaking my head, I glanced at Josie. “So… you’ll do your best, as long as I do the same?”

Josie stuck out her hand. “Deal.”

I shook it firmly. “Alright. Deal. And, er… call me Lys, won’t you?”

 

**…**

 

At once, Harper had clambered up on his seat and was rummaging through Dietrich’s trunk, above Jay, who had slumped back into the mildly comfortable train seat cushion, a second away from copying Lu and burying his face in his hands to groan. Nate, beside me and next to the window, was strangely enough _not smiling_ as he looked at my good side, incredulity coloring his features, and Dietrich was stoic next to me, reading a book.

“Harper… what are you doing?” I asked hesitantly.

He craned his neck around to give me a pitiful glare. “Looking for Dietrich’s copy of _Greatest Magic: Your Child and You_!” He yelled hysterically at me, “Because you need a child tethering spell or an infant monitoring spell and if I can cast a Patronus, I can cast that!”

Dietrich flicked a Stinging Hex at Harper, who yelped but _did_ set Dietrich’s trunk back to rights with an apologetic and accusing look towards him.

My Second raised a brow. “I am reading it right now, Harper, you do not need to make a mess of my things.”

I did a double-take, peering over Dietrich’s shoulder to see, yes, he was totally reading a parenting book and looking at the _Helpful Spells_ section. There was a ritualistic diagram of the breakdown of the spell glaring out at me. I sent Dietrich a withering look.

“Don’t you dare.” I said.

Harper scrambled over to take a look at the spell, beaming as his eyes roved over the components of the magic. He made an impressed sound. “It’s Grey magic, you’ll probably get it faster than me, Dietrich.”

“Lys.”

I looked up at Lu, who’d pulled his face from his hands and had only managed to croak out my name.

“Yes?” I asked.

Lu leaned forward. “Let me get this straight: Peter Pettigrew, Marked Death Eater, was a rat animagus. He was your brother’s rat. You let him pretend to be a rat because you didn’t trust that he wouldn’t hurt someone if you revealed him.”

I nodded. “Correct.”

He mulled over this, then shrugged. “Right. I’ll take that, since you’re crazy protective over them. I guess I’d rather have an enemy close than not, even if I wouldn’t have the patience you did. Right. Okay. But then… But then you met face-to-face with _Sirius Black_ and, instead of a _Stun and run,_ you decided to _help him?”_

My shoulders squared defensively. “He needed help!”

“…Lyssie, what the hell. He didn’t have anything to offer you, why-”

“Correction,” Nate interrupted, “He had a lot to _potentially_ offer, so our dear _regina_ made a gamble that she could turn that potential into action.”

“What the hell does any of that mean.”

Nate sighed. “I knew you were an idiot, Lucas, but this is just sad.”

“I’LL KILL YOU-”

Jay took advantage of everyone else being busy, catching my eye. “Lyssie,” he started hesitantly, “I think… I think what Lu’s trying to say is that you were very, very careful all these years… And then suddenly you were very, _very_ reckless. Regardless of Pettigrew’s guilt, you- you still allowed yourself to be isolated with a crazy, adult _male_ wizard. What if he hadn’t been as good of a person as he is?”

I successfully did not glance at Dietrich; _he_ knew why I trusted Sirius, since I attributed most of my actions to my Clairvoyance, but my argument was a bit weak without that context. All I could do was sigh at Jay, shaking my head a little.

“He met me _in Hogwarts_ , Jay. I had my wand, I have my bits of wandless-”

“She may have colors, Lyssie, but Hogwarts cannot protect you the way you think she can,” Jay cut in, voice cold but expression still sincerely worried, “You were alone and isolated and _no one knew_. Wand or not, he was still a grown man, much bigger than you. The only thing you knew about him was that he broke out of _Azkaban_ , for Merlin’s sake!”

I winced at Jay’s rising voice. He was _really_ pissed about this. Harper and Lu and Nate had quieted, staring between the two of us; it was a rare day when Jay thought he had to speak up like this, and everyone hated being at the end of it. Genuine worry and concern paired with Jay’s mass of deep, shadowy magic rumbling with anger and frustration… No one liked being scolded by him. He didn’t like doing it, either, but he would, because Jay was Jay, and he wanted what was best for everyone.

And then I started getting irritated, because anger was easier — better, sometimes — to feel than fear, and I didn’t like all these lectures when, by most accounts, everything turned out as well as it could’ve.

Not wanting to snap at Jay, I said slowly, “He didn’t attack on sight, so I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. He could’ve, but he didn’t. I didn’t trust him immediately — I’m not _stupid._ But we had similar goals and I would’ve reaped quite a bit of benefit by going along with him — he was going to act whether I wanted him to or not, the Gryffindor he is — so I did.”

“Spur of the moment,” Jay accused, voice somewhat returning to its usual soft state.

“Maybe.” I granted, “But the situation was there, and I saw an opportunity to capitalize on it.”

There was a silence.

Then Jay sighed, brushing one of the loose locks of hair behind his ear with more grace than he had right to have. “Sorry,” he said, voice now as soft as ever, “I just… don’t like it, Lys. What you did. But you did what you could’ve, in that situation, and I really _am_ glad you’re alright.”

Guilt rushed in as my previous irritation was forgotten. “Don’t apologize because you thought I was an idiot,” I said, “You have a right to think that and scold me — of course you do. I wasn’t thinking as straight as I made it out to be, anyways; I felt bad for Sirius, so I helped him. Which, yeah, is pretty stupid.”

Jay smiled serenely. “As long as you know.”

Harper and Lu laughed, glad that the tension had dissolved. Nate, for his part, leaned forward eagerly.

“And?” Nate asked, “Did the Memory Ward work?”

“Memory Ward?”

“What’s that?”

Nate looked impatient at Lu and Harper’s questions. “The Legilimencic ritual she told us about. The one our dear leader used to seal Pettigrew’s memories of her Mage Sight away.” He answered quickly.

Jay narrowed his eyes. “Was that what you two were working on in that illegal book?”

“Illegal book?” Harper asked.

“ _Sollertia Augurium_ ,” I clarified, “part memoir, part research journal, by Helvynya Prevett.”

Nate grinned. “She’s brilliant. How you managed to get a copy with your family, Lyssie, I’ll forever wonder…”

Lu paled. “Th-That’s the bloody thing you bought from the cambion, isn’t it?”

“Cambion?” Nate asked, interested.

“You don’t know about it?”

“Unfortunately not… Do tell, Lucas…”

So that led to all of us having to explain to Nate that I’d bought _Sollertia Augurium_ from a Legilimency-based cambion in the depths of Knockturn Alley with blood and memories. He was quite excited to hear what a fucking criminal I was, disappointed that I did more sneaky, shady things than he did at the moment. And _then_ , turnabout, Nate and I had to explain to the rest of them the particulars of the Memory Ward and its translation. It was lucky that no one thought I was a little paranoid, locking Pettigrew’s memories of that ability away; once Jay had added that the Department of Mysteries really _did_ keep track of Seers and Soothsayers, requiring their mandatory cooperation after making them sign secrecy contracts, even the easy-going Lu had agreed that the Memory Ward was a good choice.

So now there were five versions of the story of June’s first full moon: (1) the Ministry one, (2) the true one I’d given to Alby and subsequently my family where I’d fudged the details of the Memory Ward, (3) the _truest_ one that I, Sirius, and Dietrich were aware of, (4) the truer version without Clairvoyance but with a proper Memory Ward, for my boys — and (5) whatever was for the rest of the school, or at least Slytherin, that Josie was spreading right now. God, this was so much simpler last year with the Chamber of Secrets. There was the truth and then what everyone else was told, and the rumor mills took that from there.

“And because I’m tired of dramatics over secrets, I’ll tell you this right now: yes, there are things I’ve hidden from you. No, I’m not disclosing them. But trust me, I’ve got Dietrich’s approval this time, so rest assured, I’m not keeping more secrets just for the hell of it.” I finished off dryly.

They all had bits of tension melting away when I finished; Dietrich looked smugly pleased with himself, still reading the damn parenting book, Lu and Harper’s shoulders slackened, Jay actually put out a relieved sigh, and Nate’s smirk widened into a more genuine grin. These little shits. How much had I worried them, going off on my own and coming back more hurt than ever?

It was Lu that broke the more pleased silence.

“Er… Lys?”

I nodded to him. “Yeah?”  


He hesitated, reluctant to pull out his words. “Er… You said… You said you know wandless pretty good now, don’t you? And when you go see the cambion and get your head fixed, you’ll probably be even better.”

I quirked my lips up. “Yeah. Sirius and I messed the ritual up really badly. Bet a Legilimencic cambion’s the only one that’ll know what we did and how to fix it, if we can.”

Lu nodded determinedly. “Right. Right, so, er… Will you and Dietrich start tutoring us? Dietrich on dueling — ‘cos no offense, Lyssie, I’ve seen him practice and I _know_ he’s better than you now — and you on wandless and rituals and such? Or whatever.”

Dietrich had looked minutely pleased to hear that first part, but we glanced at each other in confusion.

“You do not even like schoolwork, Lucas.” Dietrich said, testing the waters.

Lu grimaced. “Yeah, well, the bloody magical characteristics of Wormwood and Bloodroot-Valerian aren’t exactly exciting, are they?”

My Second's eyes flashed. “Wormwood and Bloodroot-Valerian are the strongest examples of magical crossbreeding, Lucas-”

Lu groaned, cutting Dietrich off. “Oh, bloody hell, I forgot he actually _likes_ Potions.” He turned to me, near-pleadingly. “Lyssie, wandless magic! Wandless magic versus _Potions!”_

I snorted. I wasn’t that big of a fan of Potions, either. “Yeah, I know. I mean, I’ll be happy to teach all of you what I know, but… Well. Why? And will you all be able to meet with me? Bloodtraitor and the trials and all, remember?”

“Yeah, that might be a problem… But, er… I mean… Well, Lys, it’s just that- that I know I’m not as reliable as Dietrich, yeah, but I think I’m going to lose it if you bloody run off without the rest of us again. I had a bit more warning this year than last, but, er, it’s just…”

Jay, thankfully, saved Lu’s botched attempts at an emotional conversation. “You should be able to rely on us, too.” He said, Lu and Harper nodding enthusiastically in agreement, and Nate tilting his chin in a likewise agreeing nod. “It’s…”

“We want a chance to help you, too!” Harper piped in earnestly.

Jay nodded. “Yes. We want to help you, as much as you help us.”

Nate snorted. “You’ve turned us all into Gryffindor hybrids, Lys. Look at us, a room of Slytherins wanting to pay someone back.” He looked out the window thoughtfully, squinting at the bright sky and fields. “I suppose it would be honorable, pureblood to pureblood, for me to do more to help you than just translating a chapter of a book.”

“What honor do you have, Wilkes?” Dietrich sneered out of reflex.

Nate snapped out a grinning reply, “The kind where I help my _liege lord_ dutifully and quietly instead of running after her and making her split her face open.”

Dietrich colored, and it wasn’t that embarrassed, light pink I had seen a few times.

“You are reading my letters,” he hissed.

Nate smiled innocently. “Hm? Letters?”

“ _Fils de pute!”_

Unlike their normal spats, this one had Dietrich actually chucking a book at Nate, who dodged it and looked just as surprised at the rest of us, sans Dietrich. Dietrich looked like he was going to murder Nate for good this time. As such, the rest of us turned away from them and let them snarl at each other in a mix of French and English, Dietrich’s language rife with swear words, and Nate laughing at him intermittently.

I caught Lu’s eye.

“Well, if even _Nate_ is asking for you all to be included in my ridiculous drama, how can I say no?”

Lu took a moment to figure that out, then grinned, bright and childlike. “Wandless magic!” he demanded.

I laughed at the eager looks on his and Harper’s faces. “Sure, sure. But… thanks. All of you. I’m really… I really _am_ sorry that you felt like- like I didn’t trust you, or left out, or any of that. I didn’t mean for that.”

“We know you didn’t,” said Jay softly, reaching over to touch at my shoulder, “but you didn’t think about us. You didn’t even weigh our skills and perspectives in to your decision. That’s what we want to fix, Lyssie.”

“I _did_ think about you,” I muttered defensively. Then, seeing Jay’s raised brow, I sighed. “But not to that extent, I suppose. The only person I thought of for help was Nate, and it was him who gave me the idea anyways.”

Nate beamed, eavesdropping as he argued with Dietrich.

“Accidentally,” added Dietrich flatly, obviously also eavesdropping.

I shook my head at their antics. Then I looked at them all. Lu and Harper, side by side, attention focused on me even as they twitched and fiddled their hands, unhappy to be still and focused for so long. Jay, across from me, patiently waiting and sweeping his braid back behind him every so often. Dietrich and Nate, murmuring French (insults) to each other, keeping an eye on the rest of us just in case. The window brightening their faces, the English countryside blurring by that none of them were watching; they were looking at _me_.

For a moment, I felt ridiculously small and humbled at how they trusted me, still. At their loyalty. Neither of which I ever really expected to get once the Sorting Hat placed me in the den of snakes. But I had it, and even with the physical manifestation of my mistakes and my thoughtlessness and my secret slashed into my face, a beacon of bandages, they were here and waiting for me. And beyond that, Harry and Hermione and Luna were somewhere on the train, none of them my blood, all of them with my secrets in their heads and their lips sealed shut. And somewhere, in London, Sirius was sitting and awaiting trial and coming home and making up for more than a decade of prison, our minds strung together with red comets and golden fireflies and wolves. And even further, in the warm and cozy and cluttered Burrow, my family would be there, my father and my mother and siblings, waiting to scold me and worry over me and hug me in one breath.

(Stars fell like rain, trailing crimson veils after them, lighting the sky up with red. He looked at the sky with grey, flinty eyes, dark hair tied back from his rough face. The wolf lay by his side, massive enough that its head was near his waist, even laying down. His hand twitched in the dark, like he wanted to lay it on the canine head.  The clearing smelled fresh and clean and wind blew on our faces. I could also smell something stale and damp, sweat, the disgusting Potions he had to drink, drying on our lips and running through our veins. )

( ~~_not yet. i don’t trust you y_ _et._~~ ~~ _you can’t ask for trust just because you’re jealous of Lyssie’s boys._ ~~ ~~~~)

I swallowed at the sudden thoughts, then smiled at my boys.

“We’ll do better next year,” I promised them, promised myself.

“We’d better,” Lu muttered, somewhat to himself and somewhat to all of us, “If we’ve got to fight a bloody dragon or something next year, we’re going to need more than ritual wards for that one.”

Harper grinned. “Maybe it’ll be dementors again! I can help all of you with the Patronus, it’ll be easy. Lyssie’s just got to do more Soothsayer helping things and I just have to ask Mum for tips, I’m sure I’ll have a corporeal by next Christmas!”

“Or I can learn Fiendfyre,” grumbled Dietrich, “Not even _putain de détraqueurs_ can withstand Fiendfyre. And they’ll be rightly dead, _banni de l’existence,_ as they should be.”

Jay grimaced. “You’d make me learn it first, and I told myself I wouldn’t teach you anymore fire spells, Dietrich.”

Dietrich’s eyes flashed with panic. “ _Vous avez dit que vous ne diriez rien!”_

Jay winced.

I whipped my eyes up to him, betrayed. “You too?!” I exclaimed, “Do all of you damn people speak French?”

Lu brightened. “I don’t!”

“That is not something to be proud of,” Dietrich drawled. Then glancing at me, he shrugged apologetically. “No offense, my friend.”

Goddammit, Dietrich. Way to kick at my inner, past self who was monolingually American by unfortunate circumstance of birth. “ _Ich hasse dich.”_ I told him dryly. _I hate you._

Dietrich looked stunned. “You speak _Deutsche_?”

I gave him a disgusted look. “You knew I spoke a little!”

“ _Ich hatte vergessen,”_ muttered my friend grudgingly.

“‘I forgot,’ my arse!” I rolled my eyes. Then I glanced at Lu and Harper who were practically bouncing up and down with all their pent-up energy. Harper was especially looking twitchy. I had to take pity on them. “Alright, you two, you’ve both got the largest cores besides me. ‘Bout the same size, actually. Means you’ll take to wandless more easily than the others.”

They both brightened, Lu more so than Harper.

“We’re starting now?” he asked gleefully.

“Yep. Why wait ’til next year? I’ve been teaching Harry, too, you know, and we don’t talk all that often. I bet you’ll all shoot past him for a bit.”

“For a bit?”

“Potter’s magical core is _crazy_ ,” I told them flatly, “That kid’s going to be powerful.”

Lu clicked his tongue, narrowing his eyes in challenge. Because of course he'd take that as a challenge, goddammit, Lu. “I can take him," said Lu, not surprising but still surprisingly, "Let’s start, Lyssie! I'm gonna beat Potter's scar in!”

I had to laugh at that, all my boys' sudden rivalry with my Gryffindor friends, and went on for the rest of the train, teaching them all the basics of meditation, finding their core, breathing into it properly, expanding it bit by bit since they didn’t have the benefit of Seer core flexibility like I did. My boys were very attentive at first, which soon dissolved into yelling at each other and laughing uncontrollably and at one point I had to sit back and just braid Jay’s hair to calm down, but it was good. They were going to be strong; strong enough to protect themselves from whatever was coming, strong enough that I wouldn’t have to brush them aside in an effort to keep them safe.

Lu wasn’t too far off the mark, after all. There’d be dragons next year. Dragons and merpeople and Sphinxes, and perhaps I wouldn't be the one fighting them, but it was just another level up in the slow escalation. And at the end, there'd be the Dark Lord, hiding and sneaking with his wand at our backs, at my family's throats. There’d be all sorts of things next year, and I was going to be ready for it. We all were.

 

 

 

**END OF ARC THREE ::** **THE PRISONER OF AZKABAN**

 

 

 

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